One Difference
by Calico45
Summary: Things had finally been going well for Arthur at this meeting, but that is all shattered when Alfred starts acting strange. When he follows him home to figure out what is going on he finds out something he never thought possible, and it rips his heart in two. Based on a head canon.
1. Chapter 1

One Difference

He honestly never planned it, even considered it—it just happened. That is what Alfred insisted at least, but Arthur was not hearing any of it. How could he when he was staring a centuries old secret in the face? In fact, that secret was staring straight back at him looking even more shocked than he was. Alfred tried again to rouse the British nation cemented in his stance and stare, but to no avail. Arthur was long swept away by the storm terrorizing his mind. The only complete sentence in his brain was, "How did this happen?"

It had started off as a simple day, really. There had been the usual unproductive world meeting planned in Washington D.C. Arthur had already flown in two days in advance and was staying at a hotel just to make sure he was prepared and not jetlagged for the meeting. Everything had been going strangely well for a change, which probably should have been his first clue that something terrible was going to happen. He had managed to book a hotel that none of the other nations were sharing, and it was closer to the meeting place even! He could sleep in, still get there earlier than anyone else, and he would not have to see that nasty frog at his hotel. Things had even been going well with Alfred in the days before the meeting. Though Arthur was pained to admit that he cared for them, it was no secret to anyone that the man could be annoying. Not that Arthur would ever try to change him of course, but when he visited him he was actually _working _with enough papers scattered around his desk to make even Arthur shiver. That was actually why he wanted to stay in a hotel in the first place. The sight of the normally carefree nation working, intensively even, made him feel unusually prideful, and he wanted to do his best as well. That was not the end of it though, because despite his workload Alfred made time to speak with Arthur like he always did. They may have not been in the same house face-to-face, but they both idly chatted enough to seem like it.

Even the day of the meeting had progressed smoothly. He had woken up slightly before his set alarm, which some people may have despised, but it gave him a moment to collect himself so he would not have to be rudely awakened by the noisy machine. Arthur had felt particularly rested that day because he had done himself the small favor of taking the previous evening off and allowing himself to visit a proper restaurant with Alfred, which was not McDonalds and the American did not even grumble once about it, and promptly went to sleep upon returning to the hotel. Speaking of the hotel, it had a splendid room service breakfast he merely had to fill out a card and hang it on the door for which allowed him to choose his meal and the time it was served which was already waiting on him by the time he was dressed. By the time he was finished and out the door he had enough time to walk to the meeting place and still be the first person there, or at least he had thought.

Although Arthur liked to be there first for the few minutes alone he would have to prepare himself for the upcoming day, he could not honestly say that he hated the fact that Alfred was there before him. In fact, he felt that swelling pride over again when the nation had explained how hard he had worked because he had something important to say today. More often than not, Arthur had always assumed that Alfred thought of these meetings as merely games except for very rare occasions, like this one apparently, and he probably did. It made him more than slightly curious to see his presentation, which he had said he had wanted to be last. Arthur was curious about that, too, but with the way things were going he did not want to start an argument, especially with his time to prepare himself before the others arrived was dwindling. So that was what he did, and once finished, he seated himself and waited. He did not have to wait very long either before the others started to file in according to walking speeds. A few quirked an eyebrow at Alfred's early appearance, but they were all used to the two English-speaking nations breaking the walking speed order, though Alfred was usually one of the last to come in.

Once everyone was actually seated, Alfred, as the host, called the meeting to order and then the presentations began. The meeting progressed rather smoothly that day, or at least as smoothly as it could. Naturally there was still drama between all the nations, but it seemed to be kept to simple snapping and snubbing today. It actually surprised Arthur so much that he _looked _for Francis, thinking he was absent. Although the French man was very much present, his usual attitude was not. The only clue as to why was the trashcan that had somehow made it to his chair's side and the mountain of tissues within and dispersed around it. At the mere sit of his more than likely feverish rival he could not help but smirk before turning his attention back to the presentations. It was finally time for the one he had been waiting for, Alfred's. Said man was already standing by the podium with a million dollar smile plastered on his face. That was when things started to go downhill.

Right as he opened his mouth to speak his cell phone went off. Now, Arthur was not particularly keeping track of Alfred and his phone habits, but he had heard the phone's ring of the Star Spangled Banner enough to know that whatever ringtone it was playing right now was not his usual one. That also proved to be a bit of a feat, because on the first note that sounded Alfred's hand had practically dived for the device. If that had not been odd, the fact that his azure eyes had gone wide for a split second was. Before anyone could say anything to him he broke out into that grin again.

"Sorry guys, it will be just a moment." he assured, "Go on without me."

Arthur could not help but roll his emerald eyes at that. Had he really forgotten that his presentation was the only one they were waiting on? When a thought hit him a second later he could only blink in response. Alfred may have very well forgotten, if that phone call shocked him enough. But, then again, Arthur could simply be reading too much into things. In fact, this was not the first and certainly not the last time he would do that. It especially bothered him that no matter how he assured himself that he could not dismiss how odd that single phone call was, or should he really say the ringtone? It was not like Alfred had not gotten a call in the middle of a meeting before. Arthur had as well, all of the nations had he would bet. So it really only left the ringtone that unsettled him. Well, that and Alfred's strange behavior... which may have not been really all that strange if Arthur really thought about it. Back to square one. As an internal debate raged in Arthur's head over whether or not it was really all that weird for Alfred's phone to play another ringtone, the man in question had stepped back inside the room. Arthur was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not even notice until he heard the American's voice.

"Hey, I am really sorry," he began, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, "But a bit of an emergency came up at the office. I really have to go. I will present next time."

Without waiting for any kind of recognition, let alone approval, Alfred was out the door in a flash. That left a very confused Arthur convinced that something strange was going on. In fact, he would have liked nothing more than to have followed him out, but Ludwig took control of the meeting before anyone could do much of anything. It seemed as though despite only needing to finish Alfred's presentation for the meeting to close, Ludwig had brought some of his work for the next meeting just in case they had a spare moment. He justified what turned out to be a national question and answer session with the fact that they would be short on time to do it next meeting with the inclusion of Alfred's late presentation. It made Arthur's eye twitch, waiting there in his seat as the clock ticked away. Oh, how he hoped that he was not asked a question. He would have probably bitten Ludwig's head off with all the anxiety pooling in his stomach as his mind warred with itself. True, being called away from a meeting was not all that weird in of itself. Emergencies did happen that required a nation's presence. The only thing that was not right with this case had to do with Alfred's presentation. He had watched the man work on it himself and then request to speak last when he normally always wanted to go first. If this presentation was that important, what on earth was so pressing that he had to leave before it? The answer to that both scared and taunted Arthur as he sat in silence.

His luck from that morning still had not run out at this point because he got by without having to answer any of the questions. He still felt that he had to wait an agonizingly long time before Ludwig finally called off the meeting and dismissed them. Arthur was the first out the door the moment the words left the German's mouth. He had not paid much attention to the other countries, but it seemed no one expected anything to be wrong with Alfred. It made him wonder if he was reading too much into things again and that grated on his mind the entire trip. Said trip was supposed to be to his hotel where he had planned to agonize over his phone over whether or not he would just call Alfred. However, the moment he surfaced from his thoughts his hand was hovering dangerously close to the doorbell of very white Virginian home. The realization of where he was and what he was about to do caused him to start and he almost fell over. Why on earth was he here? Had Alfred not said there was an emergency in the office? So he had to be at work, not home. Of course, no matter what he told himself, he could not make himself leave the door. It had him trembling with frustration at being paralyzed in place. Just why could he not move? Nothing seemed off about the house. It was the same one Alfred built himself in his early nationhood.

His thoughts were broken by a noise inside the house. At first Arthur thought he was hallucinating before he heard it again and cocked a large eyebrow. It was very soft, but he could tell it was shuffling of some sort. Now why on earth would there be noise coming from Alfred's house if he was supposed to be at work? Irritation suddenly flooded Arthur. Had it all been a lie? The fool had probably bought a new game or something and was congratulating himself on his acting as Arthur stood there. Even as he internally fumed, in the back of his mind this new explanation did not sit well with him. Even if Alfred had been acting, why the odd behavior, and even more pressing, why would he leave before a presentation he put so much effort into right before he was about to get it over with? He did not really take time to consider this though since the answer to all of his questions was apparently waiting in the house in front of him. Not missing a beat, he searched for the spare key he knew was around the front door and, finding it in record time, he proceeded to let himself in.

"Okay, you git, what was that emergency about—"

Arthur's jaw dropped at the sight before him, the words dying on his tongue. Standing on the bottom step of the staircase stood a shell shocked Alfred. However, this was not the Alfred he had seen from the meeting. He was lean and muscular, still quite tall, but if one word really had to describe him it was youthful. The last time Arthur had seen him like this was right after the revolution. In fact, it looked like the boy that walked away from him walked straight into the future considering the young man was dressed in a very modern white T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Arthur simply could not believe what he was seeing.

"Alfred?" he questioned, softly.

The boy in front of him stared at Arthur with equally wide eyes, "Big brother."


	2. Chapter 2

One Difference

Part 2

"Hm? What is—Arthur, what are you doing here!?"

Apparently life thought that Arthur had not been befuddled enough because Alfred, the one he saw at the meeting, walked right out of what he remembered to be the kitchen. The British nation could only helplessly switch from looking at one to the other. This continued on for what Arthur thought had been an eternity before the boy on the stair case began a sudden ascent. Before Arthur could honestly comprehend what was going on both Alfreds were on the stair case, the older holding the younger's arm so he could not escape.

"Calm down." the older tried to soothe, but it did nothing to change the shock in the other's eyes.

His eyes. Arthur blinked, finally rousing a bit from his stupor. There was something wrong with the younger Alfred's eyes. Were they… gray? If they were then that could not be Alfred. The thought gave Arthur a little comfort before a new worry tore through him. If that was not Alfred, then who on earth was it?

"Alfred?" he spoke, even softer than the first time.

Alfred, who had keep his determined gaze firmly on the boy, immediately turned to him and flashed a cheeky grin, "What is it Artie?"

If Arthur had been in his right mind he would have deadpanned, said the most sarcastic thing he could think of, and then shot him the most venomous glare he could manage, but he was not. So instead he settled for asking the most obvious question in the world.

"Who is this?"

A couple of emotions flashed across the American's face before it went blank, all of which were too fast for Arthur to catch. He then stood there, thinking, with his grip visibly tightening on the younger. Said young man had finally pulled his eyes from Arthur and was now intently watching Alfred's features. Alfred stole a glance at him and sighed.

"Sorry." he mumbled to the younger that tensed at his apology before turning back to Arthur, "Arthur, you have to listen to me, okay? This all… just happened really."

Arthur did not say anything and Alfred took that as a cue to continue, "This is Jackson. He is my little brother."

Arthur suddenly thought he was in a dream. Alfred has a little brother? Impossible! The only person you could possibly count as that would be Matthew, who Alfred was older than in nation years, but Matthew never ceased to remind him who was found first. Besides, even if the American had somehow managed to gain a brother Arthur would have surely known, would he not?

When the tension got to the point it could be cut with a knife Alfred began again, "I have not told anyone about him yet. He has always been a bit shy and begged me not to. I never meant for it to be a secret, I swear that it just happened."

Arthur still refused to believe it, "Alfred, who is he really? It is impossible, I tell you!"

The boy introduced as Jackson finally turned his stormy gray eyes back on Arthur and with a deep breath startled him, "My name is Jackson L. Jones, formerly known as the Confederacy, at your service."

Once again Arthur was blinking dumbly. In his shock he had forgotten about the Civil War. It would not have been all that strange if another personification was created when America was tore apart. But something was still off.

"Even if the Confederacy had a persona, he would be dead. Alfred won the war."

Jackson merely cocked an eyebrow and Alfred shook his head, "We are not lying to you, Arthur! If the Confederacy cannot still exist then explain Gilbert."

With that final blow Arthur was defeated. He could find no other way to call it impossible other than the fact that he simply had not known about the other's existence, but no one did and Alfred had already explained that. Arthur still could not believe it would be that easy to hide another persona, though, especially when the nation he was living with was as social as Alfred. Pretty much everyone had been to his house and there were plenty of surprise visits. Why had he never been caught? But then again, Arthur supposed he was now. Since he could not fight it anymore he _had _to accept it, and with that the shock was being shattered by a plethora of emotions. Upon seeing this Alfred finally let Jackson go, who promptly darted upstairs.

"Arthur—"

"Why keep it a bloody secret?!"

Alfred frowned as rage broke through as Arthur's most prominent emotion, "I said he was shy—"

"_Was_, Alfred. Why have you waited so long? And you even had to be _caught_! Why could you not just tell someone, it has been ages since the Civil War, you know."

Something unreadable flashed behind Alfred's eyes and he sighed, "It just happened, I said. He did not want to leave the States and it is not like I could bring him into the chaos of the meetings."

Arthur honestly did not care about Alfred's excuses at this point. He was just so mad that he wanted to hit something, which he would have liked to have been Alfred, but knew he could not do it. He had slapped the boy only once in his entire life and the mere memory still made Arthur nauseous. It was actually his last memory before the revolution. Arthur was that mad now and feeling even more betrayed then that. Why could he not have just told him? Was he really such a bad brother that Alfred would not even let him meet his? The words made him want to drink himself into oblivion like he did every July fourth. In the midst of his oncoming depression Arthur did not even notice someone coming up behind him.

"What is happening, Comrade?"

The words would usually send chills down Arthur's spine, but at the moment he thought nothing could bring him down lower than he already was, not even the creepy Russian.

"Not now, Ivan!" Alfred hissed, staring at the man in a coat in a scarf during an American summer.

If Arthur were even half paying attention he may have spared a thought at Alfred's use of the Russian's first name, but he simply continued on with his thoughts—until said Russian broke them.

"Strangeness at the meeting and here, too, Fredka? This has to be about Jackie, da?"


	3. Chapter 3

One Difference

Part 3

"You told the Russian?" Arthur's voice cracked.

Alfred's fists clenched and it looked like he wanted to say something, but Ivan beat him to it, "I was present during the Civil War, Comrade. If you were, for either side, you would have known, too. If any of Europe had showed, actually."

Arthur wanted to scream. If he had been present during the Civil War? Are you kidding me!? How could he have picked a side? He was still getting over the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812, but he would never want to kill Alfred. He had actually made it a point to stay neutral in that war because of it, especially when the Confederacy started appealing for help. He tried his best to keep his entire country out of if, though he could only do so much, and he would be lying if he did not say that he felt Alfred deserved a taste of his own medicine. Then again, he would also be lying if he said he did not want to put a stop to the rebellion to save him. If Arthur is still this torn up over his allegiance all these years later, then how could anyone expect him to have actually joined the fight?!

Alfred seemed to finally find his words as he drew Arthur out of his thoughts, "I cannot say he is lying, but it is not like I hold it against you for not helping me, Jackie either."

Arthur simply did not know how to respond. All these years Alfred had shared a secret with no one other than _Ivan_, not his brother—_former_ brother? And Ivan, why on earth had he not said anything, even during the Cold War? Surely he could have sprung this on everyone then and have put Alfred in a bind. None of this made any sense at all. In fact, it made about as much sense as Jackson existing in the first place.

Finally, something else hit Arthur, "Why did he not come see me?"

"Pardon?" Alfred coaxed, but Arthur was once again in his own little world.

"If he was asking for my help, why did he not come see me?"

Ivan started giggling from behind Arthur until Alfred fixed him with a harsh glare, "I said he was shy, remember? He did not—does not trust foreign countries very much. He will not even meet Matthew."

Oh, so he was going to let him meet Matthew then? That was about all Arthur could gather from Alfred's response. He was about to respond to that when once again Ivan cut in.

"Whose fault do you think that is, da?" the large nation whispered into Arthur's ear.

Even with the words being whispered, Alfred caught everyone and instantly looked horrified, "Don't you dare, Commie!"

Ivan smiled in response, which caused a stream of colorful curses to spew from Alfred's lips. Arthur was dead to the world again trying to decipher what on earth the Russian could have meant. It had to be Alfred's fault, he had to have raised him, or, better yet, the Russian's, but he had said it like it was _Arthur's_ fault. That was ridiculous; he had never even met the boy! But, then again, a whole bunch of ridiculous things had been happening today.

He had nothing left to lose, so he asked, "Is it my fault?"

Alfred gave him one of the most pained looks he had ever seen on his face and Ivan burst into another fit of laughter. If that did not confirm some of his worst fears then he did not know what did. With a new vigor from his discovery, he began interrogating the two.

"But how!? He was born during the Civil War and you said he did not hold a grudge from that, what other possible connection do I have to him?" he cried.

That same unreadable thing passed beneath Alfred's eyes, but he also visibly winced this time. Ivan stopped his laughter and actually _frowned_.

"What other connection than you have right now?" Ivan elaborated, before he gave up altogether, "The nation with us right now?"

Alfred waved with a sheepish grin and Arthur groaned, "Then this is his bloody fault and not mine!"

A dark aura began collecting around Ivan and Arthur would usually be intimidated, but he was not backing down on this one. Even if Alfred still thought he was a bad brother and that he could not be trusted with his own little brother, he had never done anything to the boy in question to deserve that treatment. He may have wavered a bit earlier just from the sheer number of things happening today, but he was sure of himself now. He had never done anything to Jackson Jones and said as much.

Ivan's frown disappeared in an instant and an even creepier smile was in its place. However, this time Alfred was ready for him, and tackled the large man in wild abandon. From his position on the stair he had flown by Arthur and managed to pin Ivan to the ground, shoving one of his discarded gloves into the giant's mouth. Arthur thought he was back in the Cold War for a second, and by the looks on their faces, so did they. Maybe there was something to the Russian's claims.

"I am sorry Arthur, it was my fault." Alfred turned to him with a sincere, self-depreciating smile, "I am sure that was a lot to take in, so you can go now. We can talk more later."

Arthur fell blank again, and for whatever reason he merely nodded and did as he was told. In all honesty, he regretted it the moment he had made it back to his hotel room. He wanted to know—needed to know that he had not hurt the little boy he did not even know. Was that why Alfred did not tell him? It made sense but it tore him up all the more inside. Ivan the psychopath was more trustworthy with Jackson than he was. Now that was a hard pill to swallow. I made his questions burn all the more intensely and despite everything wrong with the situation, he knew the only person he was going to get answers out of was the psychopath himself. That did not make the thought of approaching him any easier, but the thought of going to visit Alfred and being lied to while Jackson was hidden away once more stung even worse.


	4. Chapter 4

One Difference

Part 4

By the time Arthur had calmed down enough to do anything rational, he had long missed the flight he had prepared in his planning for the meeting. Of course, that state of mind did not last for long because by that point Arthur _needed _a drink. On his way to get just that he had concluded that he was just going to have to corner the creepy Russian. He could be hung up on with a phone so they had to meet in person. Now the question was where. They needed privacy, but there was not a chance that he was going anywhere near Ivan's house, so maybe his own? That could work; he had summoned the man before anyway. If he prepared beforehand there would not be anything to worry about. By the time he was through that thought process he was already back in his hotel room and more than a little buzzed, making him a bit more positive, or possibly unrealistic, than usual.

It was in that moment that something occurred in his drunken mind that he had ignored all day: what about all the other nations? Clearly, more than a few will be outraged at the secret, Matthew and Francis being two of those. Arthur's lip curled at the thought of Francis. Even if he had hated him, the frog still got to see Alfred. Not by choice, mind you, but it was not like he had kept Alfred a secret. The thought occurred to him that he very well might have if he had been given the opportunity, but he dismissed it immediately. There was no way he would have gotten away with that one, not with all the colonies around him. Besides, what did it matter? He did not actually do it, not like Alfred. But if anyone had tried to hurt his little brother he would have done anything to stop it, even do things that would make others hate him. The thought sobered him up a bit as he pondered if he really could have harmed Jackson.

A steady knock met his ears when he began grimacing at his half empty bottle, rum probably. He quickly set his drink down and made it over to the door, admittedly with a little difficultly, and swung it open. The sight in front of him murdered all the words on his tongue for the second time that day and he merely blinked.

"Well, may I come in?" asked Jackson, hands nervously buried in his pockets.

"But of course." sputtered Arthur, moving out of the way.

Jackson faltered a little when he smelled the alcohol and proceeded to see the bottles, which caused Arthur to wince. However, the young man did not run away like he half way expected. Instead, it seemed to strengthen a resolved of some sort.

With a sigh, Jackson turned to face Arthur, "Let's be blunt, shall we? I am here of my own free will and Alfred has no idea about any of this. _I_ have come to speak to you because I am more a part of this than anyone else."

Arthur nodded, not sure what else to really do as he began to realize how much he actually left Jackson out of the equation today.

"I have a favor of you to ask, and I think it is quite reasonable." he continued, rubbing the back of his neck in exasperation, "Forget you ever saw me."

At this, Arthur started, "But why!?"

"Alfred was not lying. I have no desire to meet the other nations. I merely want to go about my life as I always have been."

Arthur frowned, "We are not all like the Russians."

Jackson smiled slightly at this, "I know, but that does not change anything. I asked for this and it is not fair for my brother to take the fall for it."

In his heart of hearts, Arthur could understand what Jackson was saying, but he felt far too wronged by the day's activities to let Alfred off of the hook. Whether or not Jackson had asked for it, it was Alfred, and Ivan too, that complied. Jackson was way too young at the time to be making any kind of those decisions. In fact, he was still so young. It pained Arthur a bit to see him at that age, reminiscent of Alfred in his teenage years. Though he supposed Alfred had technically gone through the same thing—but won.

A new burning question flew out of his mouth before he could stop it, "Are you happy?"

Jackson seemed a little caught off guard by the question, but he nodded, "Well, yeah. Not about being discovered, but in general."

"But how?" Arthur found himself asking before he could stop, "He won and you lost."

Jackson looked as if he did not know how to respond for a moment before he threw away all tact, "So? What does that have to do with how happy I am?"

Now Arthur was taken aback, "If you had won, you would have been your own country! That is what you wanted, but he took that away from you. How are you happy when you tried to leave but were only taken back?"

Jackson took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, "I do not know about you and Alfred, but with the two of us, that did not matter so much. At least, not anymore. We both had our own reasons for what we did. I can remember us both screaming at each other about slavery until our voices were gone. That is no way to live, and, surely enough, something had to give. And before you ask, I was never for slavery. It was a cancer, I knew, but a necessary one for the Southern economy. Everyone argued because of that, trying to fix it with unconstitutional patch after unconstitutional patch. That is a mighty document made to bear with change, but it is a little hard to respect something that will rip itself in half. Then there were the lunatics—the man that burned a copy of the Constitution in protest and then the man that locked himself in an armory. It took way too long for it to all break if you ask me, yet I do not regret losing, as strange as it may seem. I am happy with how things played out. It was the South rebelling that finally got rid of that cancer and fixed other things as well. Besides, Alfred really was right. There is no way to divide the north and south because there are no barriers. It was a long road, and Alfred and I were not back to normal over night, but I think we are closer now. So, yes, I am happy. Does that answer all of your questions?"

Arthur felt that maybe he should have taken that with a grain of salt, but it was far too late for that. The words floated around in his head with no intention of leaving, but he still had one more thing to ask on the matter.

"Do you think that… that we could have made up like you two did?"

"It took a lot for us to mend things, and not just time. Alfred, we, when we reunited he just hugged me for the longest time before he dragged me off to his study. We did not sleep at all that night. He had gathered up all of these files from out of nowhere, all of his history, and we went through it and talked about all of _his _mistakes. We actually tried to think about how we could have fixed them, and we did the same with mine when I brought them up. That went a long way. It made us civil. If you had come at it like that and he tried just as hard as you did, who knows."

Arthur could not ask anything more of that answer, but suddenly he became aware that the conversation moved away from where it should have been.

"I am terribly sorry, but you were asking me to forget I ever saw you, and I just cannot do that."

Jackson visibly tensed at this, "And why not? I answered all of your personal questions when I did not have to, why can you not return the favor?"

Jackson was thrown for another loop when he was answered with another question, "Is it my fault? You not wanting to meet other nations? Russia said something along those lines and I have to know."

He stood there for a moment before he ran his fingers through his wheat colored hair, "You make this really difficult you know? I am trying to be polite. It is not good manners to sass someone you are asking a favor from, but I said I would be blunt and a liar is one thing I am not. Yes. My brother blames himself, in all honesty, and he may have set the wheels in motion, but you are the one that pulled the trigger. To be quite frank, you are actually the last person I wanted to come face-to-face with, but I can suck it up for my brother."

Arthur had the breath knocked right out of him when he heard the confirmation, "But how is that even possible!? I have racked my brain and can find no way in which I could harm you after the Civil War."

Jackson quirked an eyebrow, but continued smoothly, "I assure you there is, but it did not start there. But first thing is first, you seem to be under the impression I was born during the Civil War, but I was born during the Revolutionary War. If you want more details about that you will have to ask Alfred, but as for what you did to me, it is more a fact of what you did to Alfred. You burned his capital when I was still but a child and it was the scariest moment of my life, thinking I was going to lose my brother, all thanks to you and Matthew. As for harming me in the later years, drawing my brother into your European wars never helped anything. Washington always said to be careful of foreign alliances and here he is in modern day playing with global affairs. You held a grudge and turned on him, Matthew, too. The XYZ Affair with France, Pearl Harbor with Japan, all the World Wars, the Cold War, there is always someone turning on my brother and then he will go right back and offer them aid once the war is over. Just like with me, and though it sounds selfish, he is going to ruin himself doing that and I am the only one that cares. So grant me my one favor of pretending to never see me so I do not have meet all the people that are just going to stab my brother and I in the back later."

The way Jackson said the entire thing only added to the words' weight, which was crushing his heart. He really could not take much more of this visit and Jackson sensed as much. So he left after a quick "good day," leaving Arthur reeling from everything that was now bouncing around in his head. He was frustrated with himself, for not knowing about any of this. Jackson had been alive for so long, he should have known. He should have known that he hurt more than just Alfred that day, more than just himself, Matthew, and Alfred that day. And yet, with all of that frustration and anger, he was the angriest at himself for feeling betrayed by Alfred when he had worked things out with Jackson. That could have been them, and he could have kept his colony. For the first time the thought actually made him sick.


	5. Chapter 5

One Difference

Part 5

The flight back to England had been an uneventful one. Even if it had, Arthur would not have noticed it. He was still reeling from his chat with Jackson, if you could even called it that. Shortly after the teenager had left Arthur quickly realized that he could not bear to be in the country any longer and had booked the quickest flight he could, no matter the expense, which happened to be early the next morning. He did not sleep a wink, in the hotel or on the plane one, and did not even think about calling Alfred to discuss this whole mess with him like the American said they would. At this rate, he doubted he could face either persona, much less talk to them. It might as well have been July already.

That is how Arthur felt as he walked up the path to his own house, feeling every bit of the stagnant aura around him he usually had in July a month early. It was heavy and fogged up his mind worse than any liquor, but the absolute worst part of it was that he did not want it to go away. It may seem a little masochistic, but if these things did not affect him like this then they would mean nothing, but things involving Alfred had always had the weight of the world since he was a child. So, in a very strange way, he was showing how much he cared for the man whenever he nursed these old wounds and had a thick miasma around him. It was certainly not the healthiest thing he could do, but he doubted he could stop even if he wanted to. It was subconscious by this point and he did not really think about it.

Once at his door, he fumbled around with his keys for about a good ten minutes before he was able to unlock the thing, cursing the entire time. Nothing ever went his way in moments like this. Whether it was the negative energy, karma, or what, he had no clue, but he took ages to do what he could usually do in a flash. Not to mention the fact that the quality suffered. If anyone thought his cooking was bad usually, then there was a reason he did not make his own meals in July. He did not normally eat much in this state either, so his main goal upon entering his dark home was to make it to his room as unscathed as possible before proceeding to drink and hide under the covers of his bed. It was a solid plan while cast his luggage aside in the hall and climbed the first few steps of his staircase, afterwards, not so much. He caught it out of the corner of his eye at first and, thinking nothing of it, he planned to ignore it before a voice confirmed he was indeed still in reality and not hallucinating.

"You should have called."

Arthur turned his head and gaped at the none-too-happy American on his vintage couch. If he had not been drowning in self-pity, Arthur might have noticed Alfred's unusual behavior. Normally there was a generous amount of movement on his part, of some sort, but he sat there stock still in a rather rigged sitting position. He was not even blinking, and in the dark his blue eyes almost seemed luminescent. Arthur caught that last part all too easily and was sucked into their light.

"H-how did you even get in here?" he managed, with quite a bit of difficulty.

"I got that spare key habit from you, remember? Back when I was still a colony I would accidently lock myself out so you always made sure there was a key I could find."

Arthur nodded at the memory, remembering how terrified he had been thinking that when he came back from trips to England that he would find Alfred had locked himself out and had resumed living in the woods. The child liked playing in the forest enough, it would not have surprised him one bit if he lost him that way, especially in his earlier childhood. Even with his hired nannies and servants, keeping track of the boy had been a chore when he _was _there. Absolutely anything could, and did, happen when he was not.

Once again, the brit was lost in his memories and Alfred sighed, "Look, I knew this would happen if you knew, which was why I would not let Ivan tell you. I had absolutely no idea Jackson would… Anyway, you should have at least talked to me about it instead of running away!"

That snapped Arthur out of it in a flash, "And why should I when it will not change a bloody thing!?"

Arthur was panting now, watching as Alfred shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He was frowning with his fists slightly clenched.

"I'm sorry, " he began, "I did not come here to start a fight, to yell, to do anything other than give you my side of the story. This may all be centered on Jackson, but I am just as much a main character. But before all that, I have to say this: it has been _years_, Arthur! We have had our bad times, but our good ones, too. Don't go and throw those away just because something happened in the past, and certainly not because you did not know every detail about it. It does not make anything you or I did any worse, because we already did it and we _forgave _each other, we moved on."

Arthur's heart shattered a little when Alfred apologized, and broke a little more with each sentence afterwards. As much as he wanted to, oh did he want to, he simply could not accept what he was saying. Alfred may have forgiven him for everything, but Arthur had only apologized for what he knew about, and what about Jackson? He had been so out of it after their talk that he did not even think to apologize to him. He had not done anything to make things right with him. Even if he had, there was a nation out there that did not even want to meet all the other nations because of him. His only friends were his extremely busy brother and the Russian. How could he live with himself knowing that?

After originally being so still, Alfred was now in a frenzy, pacing back and forth across Arthur's living room. Just looking at him made Alfred realize he might as well be talking to the walls. It drove him crazy, the man _never_ listened. Once he came to a conclusion about something it was near impossible to change it. So, with his mounting frustration as energy, he began to pace. He needed to keep a cool head for this because Arthur's emotions were clearly failing the British man, and when he figured it was as cool as it was going to get on this topic, lukewarm honestly, he took a deep breath and halted all actions.

"Artie, Jackson does not trust anybody. I know he told you as much, or at least gave you a clue, so do not feel bad about that. Regardless of what you did to me or the trauma you gave him, he had always been shy. He never liked crowds either, and took forever to warm up to anybody. Sure, he has social skills and can hold himself just fine in front of people, but he is _acting_. Like, Hollywood acting. What you see when he is with strangers is a scripted character he made up in his head. Only I have really seen the real Jackie. Even Ivan, who visits all the freaking time for some ungodly reason has only caught glimpses. I honestly think that is part of his nature and would have been like that regardless."

Arthur narrowed his eyes in response, "So you think I had _nothing_ to do with it?"

Another sigh, "I never said that. You may have triggered it or made it worse, but it was already there. And stop talking like only you had anything to do with burning my capital! I started the war, I admit it. I attacked Mattie because you were messing with American ships. It is only natural that _both _of you came after me. Mattie was just as much a part of it as you. Regardless, I should have done a better job at keeping him away from D.C."—Alfred faltered here, looking down and continuing in almost a whisper—"I just had to see for myself. It would not have felt right if I did not watch my heart turn to ash in front of me as it did the same thing in my chest. Of course I collapsed and Jackie found me that way. It scared him so bad… But that was my fault! I was the older brother then, I was the one supposed to make him feel safe. If I could not do that, it was my own failure."

By now Arthur was shaking his head desperately, tears he had fought so hard to keep at bay streaming down his cheeks, "N-no! Alfred, I—"

"Was fighting a war. Against your enemy. We all do stuff on the battlefield we will have to live with. I signed up for that when I declared my independence. I signed up for _everything_ when I did. After all, that is what made Jackie in the first place. It makes a lot of sense when you think about it, why rebelling created him. I may have grown fast, but I was still a young colony that did depend on you, especially in the South. When the revolution began only about a third of the people were patriots. Another third were loyalists and the last third were people that had no clue what they wanted. So it all made sense when I found a kid in Georgia, the royal colony, which looked like a child version of me, because I think he was! Or, at least a part of me. He was the part that still needed to depend on someone, the loyalist third that thought I would parish on my own, so he had to be able to depend on me or it would have all been for nothing, and the both of us would die. The South needed the North, and vice versa really. And whether you know it or not, you were a great big brother, and since I took that away from Jackie I knew I had to be even better and I have tried my best to do that ever since."

The tears just would not stop on Arthur's part as he subsided into quiet sobbing. He _hated_ crying, especially in front of people. He learned at a young age to control himself and normally did not have any problems—except when it came to Alfred. Oh, how he hoped Jackson would not have the same ability, but by the look of things that was a pretty slim chance. Arthur could barely see at this point, but he did not have to when he could already tell that Alfred was feeling the guilt already. If Arthur knew anything, he knew that Alfred liked to see him cry as much as the brit actually liked to do it, even as a child.

"It had to be said." the American confessed at last, a little sheepishly as he started to find his way back to the couch only to think better of it, "I still have more to say, but I already intruded enough for today. Actually call me this time and we can talk later."

When the last words left his mouth Alfred began a course for the door. He honestly had no idea if he should leave at this point, he hated the thought of leaving Arthur there to cry, but he knew very well that the nation would rather sob in peace. Besides, it is not like he could really comfort him anyway in this situation. No matter how you looked at it, Alfred had sort of caused this whole mess and if he just had to stand there awkwardly and watch Arthur cry he might as well have drove a wooden stake into his chest. It would hurt less, he figured. Deep in thoughts of his own, the last thing Alfred expected was to have his wrist grabbed. Halfway not believing this was not happening, he turned his head to see the brit with his eyes hidden behind his blonde mess of hair.

"You already came all this way. I would not be a proper gentleman if I did not at least hear you out."


	6. Chapter 6

One Difference

Part 6

It took a little while for Arthur to calm down enough to hold a conversation. In that time Alfred was told to entertain himself, rummage through the kitchen if he got hungry, and that he would be staying the night in the guest room. The American really tried to busy himself watching T.V. and actually had moments he lost himself in the mindless programming. However, the moment he heard any kind of sound from upstairs he came falling back to earth and mentally started looking for that wooden stake. He would still be entertaining himself, so he was still technically doing what Arthur told him. Following that line of thought after the T.V. completely failed him, he actually started searching. He was in no mood to eat under the circumstances so he steered clear of the kitchen, but every other room was fair game. When he was in the midst of searching the garage, with absolutely no luck at this point when he had been through the entire first floor except for the room he was going through, Arthur finally came downstairs and apologized for his outburst before taking complete control of the situation.

Said situation was a heart-to-heart, Alfred assumed. Of course, he only assumed because apparently serious British conversations were different than American ones, or Arthur was just strange. Either way, Alfred found himself seated upstairs in Arthur's study at a small, intimate table with two matching chairs. He waited patiently for the refreshments Arthur insisted on having, though he felt and curbed the need to drum his fingers. He knew he had to talk with Arthur, but this was getting way too stuffy for his taste. This was all about getting stuff out into the open, not forcing it into a proper shape. Alfred spared a thought to Arthur's nerves and assumed it the reason, but it did nothing to quiet his discomfort. Only when Arthur had returned and passed out the drinks did they die. Apparently, Arthur was not as put together as he was trying to appear because he managed to mix up his own tea with Alfred's coffee, which Alfred corrected once his back was turned. With the tray of what had to be scones securely on the table, Arthur settled into his seat completely unaware of the swap.

"You may begin when ready." Arthur assured, but was not sounding very sure of anything.

Alfred offered him a weak smile, but carried on, "I guess the thing I really need to cover is the war. That ought to do for today at least."

Arthur nodded weakly, a little afraid of his unknown involvement in said war. After all, why else would Alfred bring it up?

"He…" the American began, staring down at his coffee, "Lost faith in me."

Arthur's ears perked at this, but he tried to keep his mind as blank as possible—which was not nearly as hard as usual.

"I think I did well in the War of 1812, but of course he would think differently. I thought that would be the end of it, but of course not. Another reason I think Jackie was born is because the South aged slower than the North. It is a little funny really, that when he finally got to be a teenager the South finally got rebel spirit it had been lacking years ago. You would be happy to know that I did get a taste of my own, bitter medicine because _I _was called the oppressor this round. They said I was taking away their Constitutional rights, when all that had happened was a president that did not believe in slavery was put in office. He did not have to do a single thing but be elected. Before that even, the issue of slavery was a heated thing. There were some crazy people on both sides and no one, not as a whole at least, wanted force things either which way, but as the fight continued legislation could only make it worse. To try and appease both sides more regulations were placed on the slave trade, but in turn the runaway slave walls became harsher. Congress was trying to make everybody happy, I was trying to keep everybody happy, but it just could not happen."

Alfred paused a moment as Arthur filled his cup for a second time when Alfred had barely touched his drink. In the silence Arthur offered him a scone, which he politely rejected, to try and ease the tension. After several minutes of looking at his coffee stained reflection, he seemed to find his words again.

"Jackson will be the first person to tell you that he does not believe in slavery, that he knew it was a 'cancer.' I agree whole heartedly with that, but where we differed is that I thought we could make it work. If both sides had just stepped back it should have died out anyway, everyone had believed that at first, too. New slaves could not be imported so it was based off of the birthrate of new slaves. As for the economy, it was the agricultural technology that fed slave holding in the first place, but if it was allowed to slowly die out they could have gotten used to it little by little. I honestly believed it could have worked, but everything blew up in this case. So, while Jackson was the Southern personification in all technicality, he did not believe in one of the main reasons why we were fighting. At least, not exactly. The Southern economy was completely unstable anyway since it was based off of slaves, so ending it would have kind of been a reform, but that was the part he had an issue with. If the South went belly up, who knows what would have happened to the North. He figured it meant mutual death, which was why the Southern economy had to be preserved. That, in a nutshell, is what he fought me over."

Arthur watched as Alfred took a deep breath as if he was preparing himself and before the American smiled a sad smile. Arthur felt a jolt go through his body at the mere sight, but he could not make himself say anything.

"It does not sound that terrible at first, but think about it. He did not believe me when I told him it would be alright. He had lost faith in me and felt that he had to protect us _both_ because I could no longer do it. And, for that purpose, he decided to take on the cancer, become his own nation founded on it, and succeed so he would never have to be worried about seeing me in a situation like that again. You can say what you will about the South, but the people were still Americans. Rebels, yes, but they had family on my side and were just staying loyal to their home states so whether they admitted it or not, they loved me as much as Jackson. It was the war that pitted brother against brother after all. Jackie could easily feel like that going into it. Still, though, his government was weak and there was no real border to separate us. It just would not work either. I have every belief that his government at least would not have made it if he had won. We would have both died in the turmoil, I am sure! I mean, I almost did not make it until I had the Constitution ratified. Been there, done that, I know what would have failed and a resurgence of the Articles of Confederation would have. Plus, I would not have been surprised if the next step would have been to completely take me over. Who knows on that one, but it just would not have ended well. I am sure under different circumstances Jackie would have been an awesome nation, but we would not have survived that one."

Only once he finished talking did Alfred begin on his cold coffee, but he was not about to complain. Arthur sat in silence, contemplating what he had just heard.

"So, in a way, I caused the Civil War?"

Alfred almost did a spit-take, "That is what you got from all of that!?"

"Not just that, but I still want an answer." Arthur huffed.

The American stared at him for a moment before cracking, "Yes, in an everything-affects-the-future way. But you already know that things turned out for the best. Jackie is happy and so am I, so no need to dwell on it."

Arthur nodded softly as he tried to absorb it all. He had to admit, this was a lot to take in. Maybe Alfred was right about giving him time to adjust, but he was already here. In fact, Alfred came all the way here just because he was worried about him, Arthur could not just let him leave. Besides, even if it hurt, his conversation with Alfred today and the one with Jackson yesterday were more informative and a lot more personal than any of the possibilities with the creepy Russian. Speaking of which—

"How does Ivan know, again?"

Alfred had not been expecting a question so fast and it showed on his face, but answered flawlessly, "Well, like he said, he was there during the war. He sent ships to the North and was on them when they docked, and while he did not do much, he lent me an ear. Although, he did get into a fight with Jackie and I was not too happy about that. Those two argued when they first met, and it never helped that Ivan was first introduced as an enemy. In all honesty, Jackson really hates him. I never see him lose his manners quite as fast until Ivan is involved. He even got really into the Cold War with me. I never really mentioned this, but Jackson does actually leave the States. You can count the number of times on his fingers, but he does, and one of those times was when he infiltrated Russia during the Cold War. Of course, there was no real reason to, in my opinion, because even then the creep would visit nonstop. He said he liked that we shared a secret, just us, so he comes and visits Jackie especially. Even in the middle of the night! No, especially actually. And he keeps coming through the windows, specifically the window in my second story bedroom. I have shot him not once, but twice, and he still does it. So he is an enemy, but a constantly present enemy. He is reliable and close to us in that sense."

Now Arthur really did not know how to feel about all of that, but now he had the intense urge to place a protection spell on the two of them. He could actually do so pretty easily with Alfred, but with Jackson overseas he would have to get a little creative. No matter, he doubted he would see much sleep anyway, so why not do something productive? Maybe he would put one on all of his former colonies while he was at it. Last time he checked, Matthew was visiting Francis so he probably needed it. It then hit him that he still had not made up his mind on something very important.

"Alfred?"

"Another question?"

Arthur nodded, taking in a deep breath, "Do you want me to pretend I never saw him?"

Maybe it was just the whole mood of the situation, but Arthur was completely caught off guard when Alfred answered with a smile, "I honestly cannot say either way, Artie, so I am leaving it up to you. Do whatever you think is right. I know Jackie wants you to, and I seriously doubt he would change for anything, but I really want him to make some friends. I know that some of the countries do not think that kind of thing matters and that we are all enemies at the end of the day, regardless, but I think that is crazy. Sure we have to look out for ourselves, but humans do, too, and they have true friends. I think countries can do it, too, if they put in the effort, and if I am a wrong I quite frankly do not want to be right. So it is your choice whether or not to reveal him to the world. All I ask is that you help me have this same conversation with Matthew if you do."

Arthur shuddered at the mere thought of Matthew's reaction to everything he has heard over the past few days. He would no doubt be furious at first, much like Arthur, and then it would die down into a depression in which he would continuously beg for forgiveness from both Alfred and Jackson alike. Arthur honestly had no clue where he would fit into that equation, but chose to stay silent on the matter. In a swift motion he reached for the tea kettle to realize with a frown that he had emptied it already. When he spied that Alfred's one cup was still halfway intact, he felt even worse about it. They were both pretty stressed apparently.

Finally, something rather important popped into his head, "You will let me apologize to him, will you not? You do let Russia visit."

"He visits whether I let him or not," Alfred clarified, "But of course, Iggy. If you come to visit he would not turn you away, like you said, that would be rude. The only problem would be catching him though. We live together, sure, but he also has his own string of houses and apartments like how I have a house in every state. Plus, he works like me, just more so with governments on the state and local levels. In all actuality, he covers everything within America more so than I do. I handle all the international stuff so I pretty much just stay on the federal level. All in all, he can be a hard person to find at times which is why we had not been caught. In fact, the only reason you did find out is because he called me during the meeting."

"That was why the ringtone was different?" Arthur questioned, remembering the meeting with crystal clarity.

Alfred nodded, "Yeah, his is the only one with a signature ringtone so I always know if he needs me. His tone is called 'A Good Ol' Rebel.' He was so embarrassed when he first heard it, but I think he should be proud. Anyway, he did need me, which was the only reason I left. You probably could not tell when you came by, but he had gotten into a car accident earlier that day. It was nothing serious, but I still wanted to be there with him."

Arthur blinked a couple of times because he felt like he was staring at a finished puzzle. Finally, everything made sense. The strangeness at the meeting, all the mysteries surrounding both Alfred and Jackson, he even learned a thing or two about Russia. Admittedly, he was still beyond confused and not really sure what all he felt, especially when it came to deciding whether or not to reveal Jackson's existence, but that did not matter all that much right now. After all, he was out of tea, Alfred looked like he was about to pass out in his chair, and he had protection spells to cast. It was time to call in a night.


	7. Chapter 7

One Difference

Part 7

Surprisingly enough, Arthur did sleep that night, better than usual, actually. It might have been the comfort of having his former colony in the house or simply exhaustion that did it, but he was not complaining either way. Plus, he had been productive as planned, though he only cast protection spells on Alfred, Matthew, and Jackson before he had to stop. By daylight he was already awake and moving like he normally would, but when he came downstairs normality was once more out the window. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and what had to be the daily newspaper Arthur was just preparing to fetch, Alfred sat quietly already dressed for the day. This of course was not the strangest thing in the world, because he had gone to bed early and somewhat retained the annoying habit of rising and setting with the sun when nothing interfered, but he was a _teenager_. He was supposed to sleep in until noon like he did on his days off. It was a sobering reminder that Alfred was not as much of a child as Arthur had liked to believe, if he could even believe it at all anymore.

Before he could think about it any further he was noticed, "Morning, Artie. I got your paper already."

"Ah, good morning to you, too, lad." Arthur paused a moment after the greeting, "Pray tell, what are you doing up so early? Do you want to leave that quickly?"

Alfred chuckled at that, "Of course not, but that does not change the fact that I have to. Coming here was a bit of a last minute decision so I left a lot of stuff I should not have. One of those things being Jackie, which I feel kind of guilty about… But anyway, I have to be at the airport in about an hour, so I was hoping to say goodbye before I left."

Arthur nodded in understanding, but he did not like it at all. If anything, he wanted to get on the same flight and go back to speak with Jackson. Staying with the two brothers for a while might even do his health some good, but his boss would not be having any of that with July, and said leave of absence, so close at hand. So, he tried to restrain himself with curt nods and dismissals, offering out a handshake when Alfred was departing only to have the man take it just to pull him into a hug before he left far too quickly for Arthur's liking. As soon as the door shut Arthur realized just how dark his house was, like it had been the previous day. He had not noticed while Alfred was there. He may as well have been Arthur's own personal ball of sunshine, he always had been really. The only problem with that is that the brighter the light, the darker the shadows left in its wake, and Arthur knew full well by now his place as a shadow. The thought made a small, sad smile grace his lips. He loved being close to his former colony, but it was worse than an addiction. Once the man that took up so much space was gone you realized how truly alone you were. It was an alternating road of highs and lows, like with any drug, and Arthur was pained to admit he felt that he sometimes had _withdrawals_ that made him drop everything and visit. Between meetings, it was difficult to see each other after all, which is why Arthur both loved and hated them. In a world that they did not exist he would not be so pained over the American nation, but he would never see him either.

Still knowing all of that, he was feeling especially worse than usual this round. Maybe it was because he had to sit on his guilt before he could arrange a proper meeting with Jackson or maybe even the fact that he now knew that Alfred was never alone like him, he always had his little brother waiting at home for him. The latter part stung in a way Arthur did not even want to think about, not when Alfred had just been here trying to comfort him. He had not forgotten about the betrayal he had felt for an instant, but hearing those things and just having Alfred _there_ dulled the pain enough for it to be ignored. The scale had long tipped since the door closed, sheltering the darkness, and that is why Arthur found himself frozen in front of said door as if it were all a joke and Alfred would be back any minute. As cruel a joke as it was, Arthur found he was having a hard time believing that it was not one. In fact, he very well may have stood there all day if his phone had not rang, but even that could barely pull him away as he still stole glances at the offending door as he grabbed the noisy device.

"Hello, Kirkland residence." he greeted, far too preoccupied staring at the wooden slab to be interested.

"Bonjour, mon ami!" the voice began, very flirtatious and very French, "A little birdie told me that you went to see Alfred after the last meeting and then he flew to England to see you yesterday. Do tell, why was that?"

Arthur visibly flinched when Francis mentioned Alfred, but resisted the urge to hang up. The Frenchman would only visit then and he was already having a bad day. Though, it did still bother him that Francis knew all of this in the first place. Arthur's only guess would be that Matthew told him, because the only person that practically lived with Alfred other than Jackson was Matthew. It would not be surprising if Matthew had noticed either Arthur's or Alfred's behavior at the meeting and Alfred may have very well told him before he left for England. Plus, Matthew was staying with Francis the last time he checked.

"Frog, I have no idea what Matthew told you, but it was pure business. I was curious about the presentation he was going to give."

"Oh really? Why could you not have just waited until the next meeting, like everybody else?" Arthur could hear the suspicion in his voice.

"Because, Frog, the next meeting will be in July. I may not be able to make it."

Francis faltered at this, pausing tactfully. They both knew how true the words really were because, for a time, Arthur had insisted on attending the meetings regardless. It had been a unanimous vote the second meeting in July that he could only attend if he held a proper state of mind, to be determined by at least two attending members, one of which being the host, beforehand. Finally, Francis decided what to say.

"Are you sure you are okay, mon ami?" he asked, his voice low, "Matthew just left and I already feel it, but with you and July so close… Just do not push yourself. I will take notes on Alfred's presentation just for you."

Arthur shook his head, "No, Frog, I want to try and be there."

Francis scoffed on the other end, "Stubborn old fool, what was his presentation about anyway?"

"You will just have to wait and find out yourself with all the others." Arthur said with a grin.

"Fine, fine, mon cher." Arthur could practically hear the pout in his voice, "But before I go, I will offer to spend the fourth with you like I always do."

Arthur snorted at this, "Well it is the least you can do after helping the brat. But, like always, I have to decline. I already have plans. Goodbye, Frog."

Arthur did not wait to hear Francis before he hung up as his eyes narrowed on a pile of mail that had just come through the slot. He had been so preoccupied that he had not even noticed before he turned around. Once he did, however, he could not turn away from the envelope on top. Though it seemed rather plain, his instincts were telling him it was quite dangerous. He grabbed it carefully, examining it with a thorough eye before realizing there was an American stamp on it. In his loneliness, he threw caution to the wind and ripped it open, letter openers long forgotten. The moment he saw the contents his heart skipped a beat. He really should have known already what it was, but just seeing all the red, white, and blue glitter made him choke up: it was the birthday invitation he got every year. He honestly never failed to receive one, even if he never attended the extravagant parties. Alfred never even questioned him on the fact that he never went; he never said anything on the matter to him actually, just sent a new invitation the next year. It was like a quiet acceptance of an unrequited love so that the other could be happy, yet always having a hand out if there was ever the possibility of having chance. That thought made Arthur's heart throb, too, as it did every year. In the end, he always hated turning Alfred down no matter how hard he tried to mask it. He just could not trust himself in a position like that. What if he actually crashed the party like a drunken fool? Surely Alfred would never invite him again, and not receiving an invitation would be the only thing worse than declining them. All of these battles just added to his usual depression, making for a new worst day of his life every year. In the same sort of logic from earlier, Arthur supposed it was inevitable. On his darkest day, Alfred would be having one of his brightest. The thought took a bit of the edge off, but still…

Arthur's grip on the invitation tightened as he began to shake, "Already have plans, indeed."


	8. Chapter 8

One Difference

Part 8

Arthur could not believe what he was doing as he stood outside of what was a quaint, white home a short while ago. Now the landscape was covered in darkness with only the light and noise pollution streaming from the windows. Of course, this was nothing compared to the backyard which was sheltered by the house's height. It made Arthur cringe as he debated on whether or not to ring the doorbell, though he doubted it would be heard anyway. He glanced down to the invitation in his hand, it was the thing that had given him the courage to go this far, but it was suddenly not enough. Now what would he do, stand here all night? Although it seemed like a plausible notion, heavens forbid if someone actually saw him. They would think he were either drunk or homicidal, probably both, why else would he be _here _in his darkest hour?

That is when it hit him: _Jackson_. He was here for Jackson. Surely the poor fellow was hidden away somewhere in the house because he could certainly not be out with all the party guests. He could use a little company and then they would bury the hatchet. It was a solid plan! Now if only he could ring the doorbell. After a couple of deep breaths and reminding himself that he was here for the brother of the git who was having a birthday instead of said git he managed to press the button—only to run away when it actually run. He watched from a distance as the door swung open and there stood the birthday boy himself, in all his glory. And glorious he was, Arthur felt his jaw drop at the sight of Alfred fitted into a prim white suit with a red tie that popped, his blonde hair slicked back, and his black glasses helped complete the outfit that accented the almost luminescent quality of his blue eyes. Red, white, and blue really were his colors.

"Hello?" he called, taking one step out of the house to search the darkened horizon, "Is anyone there?"

Arthur's heart almost stopped when he spoke, forced himself into sight. He was glowing a color himself, red in embarrassment. He could barely bring himself to look the man in the face, but when he did his jaw dropped a second time. Alfred shined with the sheer glee that Arthur knew all too well, wearing the same face that he would have when Arthur returned from England in his colonial days. Arthur had honestly thought he would never see it again and for a moment that was all he could see, swept back into the days of old. He was back and Alfred had been waiting for him the entire time. Of course, the look did not stay on his face forever. In fact, if Arthur had not looked when he did he would have missed it completely as the present Alfred roared to life.

"Dude, you finally made it! Come on in, everybody is out back." he exclaimed, waving Arthur in.

In the sudden rush of normalcy Arthur found himself falling into place, "I am not here to see you, git, but Jackson instead. I cannot keep putting off my apology."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, looking quite amused, "Well. I would have you know that he is not here. Why would he be when all these people visit in July? I visit him at times like this, which is why we were so hard to catch."

Arthur opened his mouth to retort when he realized that he had nothing. Of course Jackson would not be here with this party raging. The entire _world_ was here, after all. Some people that would not come to the meetings would come to America's party instead, which was why Germany often used small talk as an excuse to drill information into their heads and then interrogate them for his own knowledge at these things. It was a sobering reminder of what exactly he had gotten himself into.

"Come on, we cannot stand here all day." Alfred insisted, still holding the open.

Arthur was quite sure he could, but chose to follow his former colony inside anyway. He was dressed in his formal attire so he would not stand out in that respect, but no one expected him to be here, so he was sure to draw stares. That would only make this whole day worse.

"So, what did you get me?" Alfred asked, dispelling the gathering miasma around the British man as they walked.

At first the words did not connect in his mind, but when they did he flew into a panic. He knew he forgot something. Of course it had to be the _present_. The thing he always made sure he at least shipped to him that week. The only reason he would leave his house the first week of July would be to buy/mail the thing since he always kept himself stocked up on liquor. It was the one thing his guilt would not allow him to forget about, even the first fourth after he won the war he sent a bloody present! What on earth was he going to do now with his former colony watching him eagerly, his childishness shining through his eyes? In his silence the bubbling guilt started to dissolve him slowly from the inside out, but in that time they had reached the entrance to the backyard. Alfred smiled, gesturing toward the door.

"Oh well, it does not matter. Having you here is a present enough. Now go and have fun. I have to get something, but I will be right back." he stated, taking off for the kitchen and leaving a frozen Arthur.

Now what was he supposed to do? Not only was he flustered by the last sentence, but the last thing he wanted to do was face the crowd without Alfred. He had planned to tail him around the party the entire time anyway, in utter honesty, but here he was alone. The thought crossed his mind that he could leave now since he showed his face, but he smashed the thought immediately. After all, his appearance had turned into his present. There was no way he could leave now, but this did not make it any easier. As he began to reach for the door knob a figure caught his sight out of the corner of his eye. Thinking it was Alfred, he turned around to greet him and was met with a very large Russian. Said Russian was frowning again, which never meant anything good.

"What are you doing, Russia?" he heard himself asking the man perched on the staircase.

"Looking for my present." he answered simply, moving down the steps with ease.

"Your present?"

"The one I will give to Fredka, da? It is very hard to find." he responded again and then he was out the front door, leaving Arthur shuddering.

Well, at least when he went outside he would only have to face the world minus Russia. It was a start. So with that in mind he finally grabbed ahold of the doorknob and swung it open. At his appearance the entire globe was silenced, staring at him with varying amounts of shock and horror. Oh, this was worse than he could have possibly dreamed as he watched even his brothers and Francis go wide-eyed.

"Hey, I know the hero takes your breath away, but party on you guys!" laughed Arthur's savior as he came back from whatever mission he had been on.

As the nations all went back to their conversations and the noise returned, Arthur never felt quite as grateful to the boy. Even though the stares continued, it was not nearly as bad as before. As he thought, he should not separate from Alfred. So that is what he did, tailing the vibrant boy around as he greeted all of his guests. When Alfred actually noticed what Arthur was doing, he made a point of walking slower and checking to see if he was still there, and he was the entire night. However, about halfway through the party when Alfred had already greeted everybody and was mingling as he pleased, the both of them started to notice from noises from within the house. It kept getting louder and louder, and when one bang broke out over the music Alfred ran inside to confront it with Arthur on his heels.

The sight that met them made Arthur nearly faint. For whatever reason, Russia had Jackson by the arm and was dragging him to the backyard. Jackson was struggling against the psychopath, attacking, moving furniture, grabbing onto walls; the boy really put up a fight. That was about the point that Arthur realized that they had been followed inside by a few of the guests. However, the dueling two remained oblivious as Jackson finally landed a hit, a foot in the Russian's face in all technicality. The Southern teen was so riled up by that point that he followed him to the floor, where he continued the assault. He was punching so hard that his fist went through the floorboards when the Russian dodged one. Someone inherited his brother's strength. Said brother only leapt into action when Jackson had the Russian pinned, pulling him up and away by his arms as he flailed.

"Don't underestimate us Southern boys!" the squirming teen cried in his brother's arms.

Only then did he see the gathering crowd in the room before he turned as still and as pale as a corpse. Arthur could have very well believed that he had died right there. Alfred, too, from his widened, pleading eyes.

"Happy birthday, Fredka." Ivan stated, wiping the blood pouring from his nose with his smile back in place, "I hope you like my present."

Once the Russian was quiet Alfred did something that was so uncharacteristic for himself that it caused some people to gasp: he turned tail and ran, dragging the stiff-as-a-board Jackson all the way. Alfred may have been a coward when it came to stupid things like horror, but when faced with a tough situation he was always the first one to take it on head first, which was why the whispers on erupted after he was gone.

Matthew was the one who spoke up first, quite unusual for himself as well, "W-who was that?"

At this Russia turned, the smile still on his face, "Why, that is Jackson Jones, the Confederacy. If any of you had been involved with the Civil War you would have known, like me."

With his words said, the Russian turned to leave, allowing the crowd to break into chattering once more. The shock on Francis's face was indescribable and Arthur could not even make himself look at Matthew again. That was probably why he snapped.

"Why did you do it _now_?!" Arthur screeched, "You kept the secret for ages and suddenly you want to reveal it to the world!?"

Ivan actually stopped at the words and turned his head, the frown was back, "Yes, because it was no longer a secret between us. _You _know."

With that he finally left, and Arthur could do nothing to stop him. All eyes were on him again, much like earlier, but he could not bring himself to notice. Not with all the nightmare fuel floating around in his head. Although it was the Russian's doing, the first birthday party of Alfred's he went to was _ruined _because of him.


	9. Chapter 9

One Difference

Part 9

A week. An entire week, all one hundred and sixty eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes, or sixty thousand and forty eight hundred seconds went by without a single contact from the American brothers. Not even their boss was informed of their location or wellbeing, much to his chagrin. In said week, Arthur went through both a mental, emotional, and physical hell, all of which having their own unique tortures. As soon as Russia had left the party he had been bombarded by all of the nations, demanding to know what was going on. Without much of an option in the matter, he explained what he could about Jackson's birth and confirmed that the Russian was, indeed, not lying. The interrogation confirmed that he had not really been ready to speak about Jackson just yet, much less actually to him. At that rate he probably would have kept him a secret after all and would simply have visited occasionally, like Russia. Not that he really had the choice anymore.

Afterwards, the hell really began, because the dispersing crowd left both a certain Canadian and matching Frenchman. That was when he started having to explain the _personal _stuff. Both thought they should have been told the moment Arthur found out, but who were they to say that? They had no idea what kind of position he had been in, yet he remembered all too well how he had felt when he first found out and could not voice the dying outrage. As he could have never expected, but not have been surprised by, the three screamed their lungs out at each other before simply choking on their own and each other's sobs. It was daylight before each of them parted from their company, feeling far worse than when it began, and returned home. Then, they waited. Waited, and waited, and waited for _anything_ from Alfred, Jackson, or each other. Nothing came.

That was why, when the week ended and the world meeting began in Berlin, Arthur waited outside of the meeting place rather than in his usual spot. Part of him died the moment he left his house to attend, the half that ached from his sobbing, drinking, and self-loathing, but the other half made sure he arrived on the park bench across the street at dawn to watch the countries shuffle in. He was numb now with no distinguishable emotions. All he knew is that he had to see Alfred, he had to know he and Jackson were alright, and he would not be beat to the meeting today. Still, it was all up in the air if much of anyone attended this meeting. Several of Alfred's closest friends had been quite offended from the secret, Kiku and Toris being the top two. On top of that, there was Francis and Matthew. The globe had already counted Arthur absent, Germany included. Still, formalities, regulations even, long forgotten, Arthur was going to attend this July meeting whether or not the host thought he was stable on the off chance Alfred was going to be present, and as he watched the countries enter one by one he soon learned he was not the only one thinking that way. The globe really did assemble into one building that day, except for Alfred and technically Arthur, who was waiting outside.

In all actuality, Arthur was not sure how he felt about all of the party guests being present for once. He had expected as much since a scandal always increased the attendance rate of these things, but that probably meant Alfred was not coming, was he? Not that Arthur knew, of course. He would not have come, but no one could predict Alfred, especially not Arthur as much as he hated to admit it. So he simply sat there, staring at the building in front of him. He still had a good hour before he had to go in, anyway. This must have been a pretty juicy scandal if this not only amassed the word, but did so _early _as well. This would probably never happen again. Utter horror broke through his numbness. It better not!

"Hey, Artie. It has been a while."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat at the familiar voice. Fearing it was another hallucination, he had been having quite a few in the past week, he slowly rose from the bench and turned his gaze on a sheepishly smiling American, garbed in his usual bomber jacket and a white T-shirt with jeans. Behind him a little ways was a none-too-happy younger version of him, in pretty much the exact same outfit only with a gray, leather jacket and a red shirt. So it was real after all… There were a whole lot of things Arthur wanted to do in a situation like this, so many that it would make the average person's head spin. Yet, before he knew what he was doing, he found that he subconscious had made the choice for him. It only really clicked in his mind when he had already decked the golden haired boy, sending the American tumbling to the ground after a sickening crack, and was then perched on top of him sobbing into his shirt. Jackson stood, frozen, a few feet away with widened eyes. He certainly was not happy with that punch, but had expected as much, they both had, and _Arthur_ looked like he had been the one hit.

"Where _were_ you two?"

That brought them both back to earth in a moment's notice, Jackson not missing a beat, "Russia."

That froze Arthur immediately. _Russia_!?

"Where else would we be when he sold us out?" Alfred asked honestly, staring up into Arthur's reddened eyes, "He played the same game for centuries and suddenly thinks he can switch up the rules, no way!"

Arthur was not quite sure what game he was talking about and it made him wonder just how close the two were to Russia, but he knew very well that he saw said Russian enter the building. He certainly was not dead, so what had happened?

The sheepish smile was back, "I know what you are thinking, and I cannot tell you. Not now at least."

Arthur stared expressionlessly downward before raising his fist once more—

"Hey!"

The firm grip around his wrist tightened as Arthur was pulled up and off of Alfred. It took a second for Arthur to register that it was indeed Jackson removing him. The teenager must have not been able to stand watching his brother get hit again. Pain once more constricted his chest, nausea following. _He_ could not stand it either, quickly realizing that this would be another moment he would never forgive himself for. If it was possible, this was worse than the first time he hit Alfred. Although he knew it physically hurt more for Alfred the first, now he had done it in front of Jackson. He just proved the Southern boy's assumptions about all the nations for a second time and deep inside he _still_ ached because Arthur lacked a caring little brother like he once had and Alfred now did. Why did he always mess up when it came to these two? Alfred was once the most precious thing in his life, he probably still was, and he could already feel his heartstrings being pulled by Jackson, so why could he not do anything right when it came to them? It was always a simple mistake and he would lose everything for it. Life was never fair.

By this point Jackson had already helped Alfred to his feet and the two were observing the quieted Arthur. Alfred could not help but wonder why Arthur always looked worse for wear whenever he was the one hit. Still, the last thing he wanted was for this to set them back _again_. Alfred really did not hold anything against the British nation, the punch and wet shirt included. He had honestly been asking for those when he put the rest of the world aside to take care of the commie, not that he had not done this before with the Cold War and all. Alfred had wanted Arthur to suffer the first time he was hit as much as he had and still believed that the man deserved every bit of guilt for that, but there was a line Arthur had long crossed. He had to let it go.

"He deserved it."

The words shattered all the gathering tension and brought both Alfred and Arthur back from their minds' depths.

"What?" they chorused.

Jackson rolled his stormy gray eyes, "I will be the first to admit he deserved it. Not that I liked you punching him, of course, but I would be lying if I said I hadn't myself."

Alfred found himself grinning at Jackson's brutally honest nature. The boy could lie through his teeth and act with the best of them, but the truth always suited him the best. Alfred thought it was one of his best qualities, even when Jackson's truths conflicted. There were many kinds of truths, emotional and logical were only a few, and he would tell them all as nonsensical as it sometimes made his actions seem.

"Don't remind me," Alfred chuckled, "He is telling the truth, Artie; I really do not blame you."

Arthur's gaze could not be diverted from the boy with gray eyes, "You realize what you are saying, right?"

Jackson grimaced as he sucked in a breath, but answered flawlessly like Arthur got a feeling he always did, "I cannot stand for anyone hurting my family, but a man always gets what is coming to him."

"But I just—"

"Calm down, Artie. It is no big deal." Alfred interrupted, waving both his hands in the air, "I told you to let this stuff go. Just imagine that you punched France, you do that all the time!"

Now Arthur grimaced. Punching the frog was a separate matter entirely to this. Punching anyone other than Alfred, except maybe Jackson, was an entirely different matter to this. He really wished the American could just understand that. Still, he was finally feeling something positive in over a week's time: hope. It was completely desperate and probably undeserved, but he still had it. Maybe Jackson did not hate him as much as he thought, but, then again, he knew the boy at least tried to be polite. He was probably civil with everybody, which was bound to be easy with a wall of acting to hide behind and practice with the Russian. Arthur had to wonder how exactly he was felt about, not that he could bring himself to ask.

"Look, you… Both of you, had me beyond worried all week. Your"—he pointed to Alfred—"birthday party was ruined and you"—the finger moved to Jackson—"were revealed to the world, then you both just disappear. No one had any clue what to think, especially because nations are not supposed to even be able to vanish like that and when we finally see each other it erupts into violence. Do you really think I can just let it go?"

Alfred begins to rub the back of his neck, "Well, yeah. I am sorry and you already hit me, plus Jackson and I showed up to face the music, so what is there really to linger on at the moment?"

All words died on the tip of Arthur's tongue. He wanted to say there were a lot. He wanted to say that he could never move on. He wanted to say that he did not deserve to move on. He wanted to say that _Alfred _did not deserve for him to move on, Jackson either. Instead, however, he swallowed the words' remnants and put on the practiced look of annoyance, of normalcy.

"You git, we better get going then." he huffed, turning around on the two brothers, "We do not want to be late, do we?"

Arthur strode away towards the building, not noticing as Jackson spoke, "I am not believing that for a second."

"Me, either." Alfred snorted, "You know, time is supposed to heal, but it can't if you won't let it."

Jackson observed his brother's face very closely, "You are talking about me, too, aren't you?"

At this, Alfred smirked, "Of course. You two a very similar after all, so you know what it takes."

Jackson sighed, turning away from his brother's sight, "Is this really such a good idea, coming here?"

"Yep. You need to meet them, even if you think you embarrassed yourself in front of them. You know it is rude if you don't, good impressions aside. I swear it does not make much difference, anyway, they are all pretty loony, and who knows, maybe you will like somebody." Alfred affirmed, grabbing Jackson's wrist and leading him towards the building, "Besides, even if you don't, I will be right beside you the entire time."

Jackson felt a comforting squeeze come from his brother's hand as the words finished and the building came closer. He really, really did not want to be here. He had heard plenty of things about these meetings both good and bad from his brother, but none of that meant anything now that he was here. He had to face the entire globe and explain his existence. And yet, he could not help but believe things could have been so much worse with his brother's hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"I think I can understand why he acts that way, when he lost you."


	10. Chapter 10

One Difference

Part 10

Arthur wanted to have a mental break down. He wanted to flip the table, throw the floral centerpiece, declare war on France, anything to crash the meeting and stop the interrogation taking place. This meeting place had been especially chosen in case Alfred did decide to come and he had, Jackson in tow. Unlike most meeting places, this one had four rectangular tables with only one break between them for an entrance that enclosed a central area where a podium sat. On all sides behind the tables stood benches large enough to seat the entire world's various personifications, with the door to the circular room placed right in front of the break in the tables. The tables were meant solely for the great eight, and that is where Arthur sat, next to Francis. Alfred and Jackson were in the middle answering questions as Germany came up with them at his seat at the table beside Italy. China and Japan were at another table, watching intently, along with Russia who sat alone next to the seat where Alfred should be.

Most people had no clue what was really going on, but Arthur knew. While both Alfred and Jackson were answering basic questions articulately and with ease, he knew that Jackson wanted to be anywhere but here right now. He knew that he was shy and did not like crowds. He knew that he did not trust the other nations and thought they were only going to stab him and his brother in the back. He knew that Jackson hated the Russian that had betrayed him and now got to enjoy the misfortune he caused. He knew that Alfred was trying to comfort his brother and himself from the younger's distress. And he knew that he could not take either being that position, especially since he caused it. It would be nothing if he suddenly flipped out. After all, this was an emotionally charged meeting, it was in July, and Germany had not even cleared him to be here, so why could he not just do it? It would save the two in the middle from dealing with _this_ anymore, at least, even if he could not protect them from the other nations afterwards. So, why? Alfred had visited him personally to explain the situation so he already knew the answers to these questions, they were derived from what Arthur had told the mass anyway. He had also been given hope that he was not hated by the younger American when they met outside, so trying to get into his good graces would surely be the next step. He could see through the façade, he could stop it. So, with all of this, why was he still frozen in his seat next to Francis?

As much as he did not want to admit it, that vengeful side of him thought Alfred deserved the discomfort. Not Jackson, of course, but a similar side wanted this to fix what he had done. He had made it so Jackson never met the others because he did not trust them, so in some sort of twisted way this was fixing it, right? Yes or no, the guilt still bubbled in his gut. Both of those sides were tiny and buried beneath everything, but they were probably what held him in that seat. That and his understanding of some of the other nations, really. They needed to know, have their questions answered, to meet the new personification. It hurt to be kept out of the loop, especially by someone you thought you were close to. Plus, it is not like a new country is born every day. There were very few personifications in this world, especially compared to people, and you can get sick of each other pretty fast when you have an eternity together. In a way, it could be compared to someone having a baby and the whole family wanted to see it. The poor child would probably be terrified out of its mind with the newness of everything, but the people would just be excited. Make that a secret pregnancy that was revealed after the child had already grown to be a teenager and Arthur really could not think of any differences.

"So why is it that you never wanted to be revealed?"

The question brought Arthur out of his thoughts immediately. Everything Germany had asked until now had been simple things like when Jackson had been born and if he had met anyone beside Alfred, Ivan, and Arthur. Even when the question had been about why he had been hidden, Arthur did not think for a second it would lead the interrogation here. He certainly did not want it to go here. He did not want the other nations to get the blunt answer he had gotten. Surely he would actually lie right now, at least when they were in front of such a crowd? Even if distrust was a very real thing, nations did not talk about it. Arthur saw Alfred sigh at the question and his heart dropped.

Jackson took a step forward, a Hollywood smile he shared with his older brother firmly in place, "I did not want to leave the states, for one, and I did not want to meet everyone either."

Although Arthur did not hear a collective gasp he was sure there was one.

"And why is that?" Germany persisted, and by now Arthur really wanted to gag him.

"I cannot say I really am a people person." Jackson admitted honestly.

"That is all?"

Now Arthur really was going to gag him.

"No."

"Then what else is there?"

Arthur shot up from his chair, which screeched as it scraped across the wooden floor. All eyes were suddenly on him and Francis grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing mon cher?"

"Is there a problem over there!?" Germany bellowed, getting up from his seat to glare at the interruption.

Said interruption glared right back until he caught Alfred's small, sorrowful smile out of the corner of his eye, followed by a shake of the American's head. The message was received loud and clear, and he sat right back down, though begrudgingly. Germany retook his seat as well and motioned for Jackson to continue. He did, but only after staring at Arthur for several long minutes.

"I will be blunt. I am not my brother. That is why. He is a people person. He can trust others after being stabbed in the back. He can trust others _knowing _he will be stabbed in the back. He can play the fool to make the rest of you feel better, which I do not understand because does anyone really want an idiot to lead the entire free world? I cannot do those things and quite frankly, do not want to. I do not want to play your game of 'friends' when I know all of you say and do put yourself first. You justify that because you are a country and have people to look after, you _know _that all the others think that way as well so you are just going to be betrayed anyway, so I think I am justified in not wanting anything to do with all of this when I have my brother and myself to look after."

Arthur was sure the entire audience was gaping at this point. Germany surely was. Russia was smiling that creepy smile. Jackson looked like he had just stated something as obvious as the weather. As for Alfred, he still had that small, sad smile. Arthur could only assume he had expected as much, why would he not? He did not even plan to look at Francis, much less Matthew. This was one of those cases where the truth really hurt, which was why nations did not talk about their distrust in one another. With the increase in globalization, all the nations had to deal with each other, but the past never disappeared. Even when this was supposed to be one of the most peaceful times in history the tensions were still there. The personifications were still worried for a World War III, which was why things like these meetings and the European Union existed. It was thought that if all the nations depended on each other then they could not start another terrible war. The thought had not really been proven one way or the other yet, but wars still existed. Oh, did they still exist! It seemed there was no stopping them and even knowing all of that, it was still sobering for someone to actually say it all out loud. Maybe Alfred really only played the fool.

"If that will be all, then I am leaving. Good day."

In seconds flat, Jackson was out the door, his shoe soles making steps that could still be heard going to the hall. Alfred had followed right after him, leaving an apologetic smile as the last image on everyone's mind. Russia was the first of the audience to stand and leave, not uttering a word. Germany had closed his mouth, but he was still clearly shell shocked. Everyone was, no one had to say it, but that could never be the end of it.

"Why would he think like that?"

It was Matthew.

"Especially when Alfred was the one that raised him. I know he was born during the Revolutionary war, that may have been a long time ago but what could have made him not trust us so much?"

Arthur could feel the guilt bubbling up his throat. It would have spewed out by now if his heart had not already lodged itself there.

"Pearl Harbor, maybe?" began Japan, looking rather pained, "It would explain why Alfred would not tell me."

Arthur could tell the crowds were nodding. It made sense. The really bad things they could think of would have to be Pearl Harbor or September eleventh. None of them seemed to remember that certain two of them had actually burned the American's capital down. He was both relieved and distraught at the same time. He did not want Kiku to feel like this was his fault, but the last thing he wanted to explain to Matthew was that Jackson did not trust him because he went along with Arthur's plan. In reality, Jackson was just as much Matthew's brother as Alfred when it boiled down to it. Alfred may have had all of the personal connection by raising him, but blood was still blood. Arthur knew that better than anyone, considering his three older brothers and sister.

"But he did not tell anyone." Matthew continued, "Russia and Arthur just caught them."

Arthur began mentally cursing as the crowd began discussing the matter in light of Matthew's new comment. Could Matthew not be visible until the end of the meeting? Apparently not.

"Arthur, can you think of anything? You are the only one here who had actually talked to Jackson."

The words knocked his heart out of his throat and into his stomach.

"The War of 1812."

The room turned silent once more.


	11. Chapter 11

One Difference

Part 11

Alfred would be lying through his teeth if he did not say he had expected as much from Jackson. In fact, he firmly believed his brother would never change because he simply did not want to. He was so confident on the matter that he made a bet with Ivan during the Cold War. If the commie could fix Jackson, then he would become one with mother f***ing Russia. Alfred had expected his little brother to go berserk when he told him about the bet, he usually did when he thought Alfred was doing something dangerous, stupid, or he otherwise did not agree with, but the younger merely snorted and assured him it was a safe bet. That stopped Alfred from ever questioning it again, resolving to support Jackson's life of secrecy. So much for that now. The secret was out and so was Jackson's brutal honesty. Alfred would not say anything against it, but he had really hoped things would have gone well instead. He was probably the optimist of optimists by now, but he hoped it was still salvageable. Was it really so wrong to want your younger brother to make friends? He did not think so, but he also did not think that nations could not be friends. Not that today was not putting that to the test. He would not willingly admit it, not that he had to, but the fact that no one said anything hurt Alfred more than he liked to acknowledge. No one said anything to either he or Jackson. No one had to follow them, but even a whisper would have been nice.

"When is our flight?"

Jackson's words brought Alfred out of his reflection to realize that the two were on the streets of Berlin. Alfred had been wandering aimlessly, but Alfred could only assume that Jackson had been leading him to one place.

"Tomorrow at noon."

Jackson's face visibly fell, "Why did you not say anything about me going to the airport then?"

Bingo.

"Because I figured you would rather spend the night there than at a hotel."

Jackson pursed his lips, "Truth or not, the U.S. Embassy is always an option."

Alfred finally laughed, "Oh, come on, Jackie! Lighten up. You barely leave U.S. soil, let's have some fun. You pick where we go and I'll book the hotel and everything."

"Home." Jackson deadpanned, "And I like staying in the states, for good reason, too. The only time I usually leave is to fight in whatever war you have gotten us into again."

Alfred shrugged. It was the truth. Jackson only ever left home when wars started or were at least in the making. It would only be natural if there were just bad memories of traveling away from home.

"All the more reason to have some fun here and now."

Jackson inspected his elder brother a minute before sighing. He knew when to bow out gracefully.

"Only because the flight is tomorrow, and I would rather book the hotel, actually."

Alfred grinned. Jackson was one of the most responsible kids he knew. Alfred never really thought of himself as irresponsible, but he was quite relaxed. He always assumed that Jackson picked up the slack. Regardless, Jackson was still a kid and could have plenty of fun like one; he just never let his hair down in front of anyone he was not comfortable around. The prim and proper Southern gentleman was a very real aspect of Jackson, but an act nonetheless. Alfred doubted that many people would understand how the two could coexist in one person, but he had several sides to himself as well.

"That just leaves where you want to go. If you have to, just tell me something you want to do and I can find a place." Alfred pushed.

Jackson took a moment to think about it after deciding that his brother would probably never accept a hotel to sleep as an answer. Maybe there was still one loophole to this.

"A restaurant sounds nice."

Alfred's jaw dropped.

"You said to pick a place, I did. And it wasn't a hotel, airport, U.S. Embassy, or, better yet, the states."

Alfred found his head shaking, a bright, sincere smile in place, "You are a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Stubborn as a mule and proud of it."

"I am sure you are," Alfred chuckled, "A restaurant it is. I will just have to surprise you with where we go afterwards."

Now Jackson did not like the sound of that, but he was more than happy with the momentary ceasefire. In his mind they both had won, and they had, but on separate rounds. It both proved and defied the fact that there could only be one winner and ties did not exist. Neither ever questioned such a thing. What felt right, did, and what did not, did not, and this felt right. Feeling a little more comfortable with that in mind, the two set off at a steady pace, Alfred leading the way. Jackson had a sneaking suspicion that Alfred was not going to let him off the hook with McDonald's, and he was quickly proven right when in in the back of an alleyway a bar appeared into sight. It was nothing fancy, Jackson could tell, but it looked like it would be a homey, hole in the wall.

Jackson snorted, "You know I am not old enough to drink, and neither are you in the states."

"Trust me, the food is great here. I found this place while trying to avoid Germany's lecturing. It is owned by this really sweet old man. The only thing is he only speaks German. Same with the menus and everything else." Alfred suddenly flashed a cheeky grin, "Not that it is a problem, right?"

Here, Jackson smirked, "Nein."

It was a natural thing for a persona to learn additional languages considering their international work, but for some odd reason no one had ever expected it out of Alfred. It had shocked Ivan when Alfred had first started cursing at him in Russian, far more than the bullet wound he had already received from the situation. Alfred, however, knew many languages. They had always came easy to him and the fact that he had no official language and all of his polyglot people made sure he was never rusty. It even allowed him to perfect various accents. The only reason no one knew is because he usually chose not to flaunt it. If everyone could speak English, then so would he. Jackson was a bit of a different matter. Languages and accents came just as easily to him, but if they had not he would have spent however many hours it took to learn them for his work. There was no shortage of need for his language skills there, or in the federal government either. Although he usually did not work on the federal level, when he did it was usually on something serious and probably international. He would also switch his language to the native one of the country he was in, just to fit in better. It was more natural for him to show off his talent.

Alfred led the way into the bar and it was like a switch was flipped. Fluent German flowed out of their mouths without a trace of an American accent. In no time the two had their food ordered and were making pleasant conversation with the bartender and customers alike. It was not like Jackson hated this type of thing. He actually loved it, a lot more at home, though. He just felt safer and less guarded there. It was easier to open up to strange American compared to any other type of stranger. It may have simply been that they were his people, but he could relax and remove a few layers of he shield, slip up a few times, and all while having a good time. He was in a good mood now, just not relaxing and allowing himself slip-ups. Alfred was far too used to it to pay much attention. He would not push him regardless, but he was still glad he was enjoying himself. Even he had to admit that was a little hard with all the chaos as of late. First Arthur found out and then Ivan revealed Jackson? It was like neither of them could catch a break. The moment they tried damage control another thing always went wrong. It would have anyone other than Alfred, the eternal optimist, expecting the next downfall. One of said people was on the bar stool beside him, chatting away the same way as his older brother—until the bar door slammed open.

"The awesome Prussia has found you unawesome losers!"


	12. Chapter 12

One Difference

Part 12

By now Alfred had had a long time to think about what would happen if Jackson ever decided that he wanted to meet the nations. Although that was not exactly the scenario, his assumptions still held, and one of those assumptions was a list of people that would go after him to demand answers. Gilbert was very much on that list. However, he had expected Antonio to be with him, if not Francis as well. They were the ones that had helped him during the Revolutionary War: Francis formally, Antonio with money, and Gilbert came with a general to train his troops. They would all probably want to know how they missed a kid, and Francis so much more. At this rate it looked like he was going to get to face Francis and Matthew at the same time, and Arthur would probably be there, too. Fun. Another group would be Toris and Kiku. He had gotten quite close to them in the past years. Kiku and Alfred visited each other so often that you could practically say they lived together, and when they were apart they were connected through video games. Then Toris had actually lived with Alfred as a housekeeper of sorts. They would both probably feel they were not trusted enough to meet Jackson. Even Allistor would want a word in this mess! All in all, Alfred would have to rebuild countless friendships after the whole reveal, but he had always been more than willing to do it if it meant his little brother could have friends of his own. Jackson had never been onboard with that plan.

"What's up, Gil?"

"You know just how unawesome you have been lately." responded the Prussian, lumbering over to the empty seat beside Alfred.

Forget that Gilbert just revealed the international secret that they were nations in a very public place; he had spoken in English and could always pass for a drunkard. This whole conversation was bound to be in English due to its material, honestly. Alfred did not even bat an eyelash at it, but he did watch the Prussian carefully as he found a seat. Thankfully, Jackson was on the end seated firmly beside his brother. In moments Gilbert had skimmed the menu and ordered a drink, before turning his attention back to the brothers.

"Need me to order you anything?"

Apparently, they were in for the long haul.

"Nope."

The Prussian quirked an eyebrow, but did not say anything on the matter. The American may have just pointed to something random on the menu and have been done with it. His red eyes lingered a bit on the younger brother.

"You have been awfully quiet." he mused, taking a long draught of the beer he finally received.

"Not much to say."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Of course not. You just sent the entire world into hysterics. So not awesome."

"Come on, Gil. You know this is more between you and me." Alfred interjected, catching glances of each of the people beside him.

"I can start with your unawesomeness." he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, "First, how did you hide a kid during the war? You did not keep him in the camp, did you?"

A look of disgust passed over Alfred's face, "Of course not!"

"Then how? You could not have looked after him personally if you did not."

"Remember, all the soldiers had family waiting on them, and I was no exception. I found him in Georgia shortly after I declared independence, like I said at the meeting. I knew then that I had to look after him, but I also knew I needed to win the war first. Washington's family was kind enough to watch Jackie while we were with the troops. Whether you remember or not, I did take any leave I was given and I did not stick around to celebrate after we had won. I think you guys thought I was simply licking my wounds, but I had someone waiting on me to come home."

Gilbert stared into his emptied beer glass, shaking it to move around the remaining foam, "Did you even think about telling us, Francis at least?"

A small smile graced Alfred's lips, "Of course I did. I had no clue how to be a big brother and I was having a hard enough time trying to be able to take care of myself, but I knew Jackie needed me so I just had to make it work. I could have probably told you guys, but I guess pride held me back. I was a beginning nation and although I was grateful for all of your help, it was me that made it to nationhood. It was me that gained your recognition and got your aid. In light of that, crawling to you over not knowing what exactly to do with half of my country did not seem all that appealing. Not to mention the fact that all of you had your own things going on. In truth, I cannot say with certainty I made the wrong choice back then considering everything that happened afterwards."

Gilbert sighed deeply and exhaled through his nose, "I cannot believe I am saying this, but I do not think you did either."

Now Gilbert had both Alfred and Jackson's full attention.

"I mean, it is still totally unawesome that you did not tell me, but I do not think you were wrong. Not when he was so young and you had to figure things out on your own. You could not afford to show any weakness. However"—his eyes narrowed on Jackson—"it should have been you that revealed yourself. If you did not show yourself during the Civil War then I think you deserved your loss, because you did not do everything you could have. There is no doubt in my mind that if you had showed up on England's doorstep you would have had your first foreign alliance."

"I can live with that." Jackson murmured, "We cannot change the past anyway, we have to live with it and make the best of it. Besides, I am happy where I am. Minus the world meetings."

Alfred grinned as Gilbert burst into laughter, "Fine, fine, they are totally unawesome most of the time, but by the time it is over it becomes hilarious."

Jackson took a moment to ponder this as he thought of all the stories his brother told him. From what he understood, nothing really ever happened at these meetings because the world could not cooperate if their lives depended on it, which it kind of did. Big shocker there. The only reason the meeting he had gone to was so different was because of the scandal. He could honestly say that he would prefer to avoid both types, but the chaotic meetings would probably be the death of him, if not for the sole fact that Ivan was there, because it would put his patience and improvising to the test. At least in an orderly meeting he could anticipate the challenges and avoid people with ease.

"I have to ask," began Gilbert, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "If you were in charge of the United States, what would you do?"

Jackson did not even hesitate, "Go back into isolation."

Gilbert's ensuing spit-take and Alfred's fit of gut-busting laughter followed promptly.

"What!?"

"He is completely serious, Gil." snickered Alfred, still banging his fists on the bar counter, "He renews his self-sufficiency proposals biannually. They aren't even half bad. I read through them every time and use some of ideas for internal improvement."

Gilbert had no clue what to think about that. If Jackson had won the war, who knows what kind of America he would have met in later years. Still though, watching Jackson blush from embarrassment either because of the recognition or Gilbert's own reaction, he could not really hold it against him. At least, not when had stayed for England's explanation. Every country had events that modified them as both a person and a nation, and most took place when they were young. He had too many of his own to deal with to be criticizing this kid, or his brother.

"England said the War of 1812 did this, is it true?"

That sobered all three of them.

"Yes and no." Alfred started, "This is just his personality, but being given a tangible reason not to trust the other nations sure did not help."

Gilbert nodded softly, not needing anymore of an answer than that. In one swift motion he stood and pulled out his wallet, throwing a few bills on the counter before he began walking away.

"I do not know what all the others think about what happened today and, quite frankly, I do not care, but I can say this: if you have the guts to say what no one else can then you are at least some kind of awesome, especially when no one can say you are wrong. Enjoy your stay in Germany."


	13. Chapter 13

One Difference

Part 13

The meeting had really lived up to its July date, Arthur had concluded shortly before it began. Now that it was over he felt like there had been two, no, three fourths that year, and there was probably another around the corner. Really, first he punched the boy he never thought he was capable of harming, in front of Jackson no less, then he got to watch both of their interrogations, followed up by the ensuing global hysterics, had to explain that it was his fault to the world—and to Matthew, and, to top it all off, he, Francis, and Matthew just sat there at the meeting place until dark before starting to walk together back to the hotel, in utter silence the entire time. Naturally it was an uncomfortable silence no one dared to break, not that they were not sucked into their own minds enough to really notice. That is how the three found themselves traversing some of the more unsavory parts of Berlin in the dark. No one had planned the coincidence, but the decrypt buildings, filthy roads, spotty streetlights, and moonless sky really fit the mood. The only thing that did not was the noise. Originally it had been completely silent, but as the three progressed they were apparently getting into more populated areas. Said population apparently liked deafening loud music, if it could even be called that, and most of it was coming from one building in particular in the distance that had neon lights streaming out of its windows, intact and broken alike. Around it were the first few people that they had seen all night.

Not that any single one of them were really paying attention. Arthur simply thought the headache was another kick when he was down. The rest apparently thought the same and nothing was said as they got closer to the shady building. The people dispersed around smiled at the newcomers, recognizing wealthy men on the wrong side of town when they saw them. It might have evolved into an issue if a gunshot had not rang out over the music inside, sending everyone scattering whether they had been inside or outside alike. The noise also did its part in rousing the three men from their stupors, though they did not run. It was only then that they realized where they were and where they should be going, but were quickly distracted once again. Right in front of them, busting out of the building, was no other than Jackson and Alfred. The younger had the older by the arm and was dragging him at speeds faster than any Olympic runner down the street, and, without a single thought, the three gave chase, overhearing bits and pieces of their conversation.

"I told you this was a bad idea; we should have gone to the airport!"

"It was not _that _bad! Gilbert recommended this place himself."

"That explains a lot, actually."

"It really does… But just admit you had fun!"

"At the bar, yes. Here, no."

The words became more gargled at this point as Jackson started taking various twists and turns through back alleyways instead of the main road, however, something about a tiebreaker was discernible, as well as Jackson swearing to never leave the states again. As numb as Arthur was by this point, the latter still made him cringe and he could practically hear Matthew wince, but then the words just stopped altogether. It was like the two that they had been chasing, and admittedly lost sight of so they were merely following their voices, vanished into thin air. Fear held their tongues as they slowed to a stop and desperately glanced around. They were still in the back alleys and it was certainly not a pleasant place even if they had all seen much worse.

Francis cracked first, "I will go look for them."

Arthur and Matthew were about to protest when they realized the man had already gone. Now it was only the two of them in an alley. Where there were no witnesses, Arthur reminded himself cautiously. Although the reason he had been dreading telling Matthew about Jackson's distrust origins was because of the guilt they shared, he was no fool to think that Matthew might blame him as much as himself. Arthur did, so why would it be strange for Matthew? That meant he felt he did deserve that blame, but that did not make meeting the heartbroken and possibly crazed Canadian in a dark alleyway any more appealing. If only that were still just a figure of speech.

"Does Jackson hate you?"

The words brought Arthur's racing mind to a halt as he scanned the darkness in the direction he assumed Matthew was in. He had lost his sight long ago when they left the main street and all of the street lights.

"I honestly do not know." he admitted rather softly.

He could hear a trembling sigh as a response.

"What about Alfred?"

If the first question did not floor him, this one did. Alfred? He had not thought about Alfred possibly hating him since the man soothed him when he explained everything. In fact, he had never truly found it in him to believe his own words without some sort of corroboration. He had a sick feeling he was about to get it.

"Do you think that Alfred hates us? For what we did to him, to Jackson?" Matthew continued, "Is that why he never told us?"

Arthur felt his stomach drop as he tried to form nonexistent words.

"Is that why I never got to meet my other brother?"

Any sort of denial.

"Both of them really. I guess I have not gotten to see the real Alfred since."

This just could not be true.

"They both really do hate me, eh?"

"NO!" Arthur burst, "He doesn't—he could not hate you. I cannot believe it. He just did not want you to feel responsible. He even asked me to help explain this to you. I do not think he would bother if he did not care."—swallow—"And, with Jackson, he is still your brother. Neither of you can change that so there will always be some kind of connection, some kind of hope, even if he does hate you right now."

"Then why?"

Arthur could hear the strain in Matthew's voice, matching his own. There was no doubt in his mind that Matthew was crying right now.

"Why, Arthur?"

He took a step forward, probing for the Canadian.

"What are you talking about, Matthew?"

"Why do you think that they hate you when we did the same exact thing?"

Arthur froze mid-step in his search, "I-I came up with—"

"But we both did it!" he screamed, "Were you lying, Arthur? Because if they hate you, they will have to hate me, too."

Arthur had no clue what to say. What could he say? It was true that they did both have the exact crime on their hands. Even if Arthur had come up with it and planned it, Matthew had agreed. He could possibly splutter something about blood siblings again, but he would probably be met with a challenge on whether or not he thought Alfred was that petty. Then there was Jackson. All Jackson knew about the two was the burning. If anyone saw them more equally it would be him. So was he lying? He really did not know. He knew he did not believe that Alfred could hate Matthew and Alfred had given him no real reason to assume he was hated either. Jackson could go either way because of that acting ability he had been informed of, but the boy seemed pretty fair in his dealings. Even though he knew these things, he just could not feel right about any of it. That was when it occurred to him that he still had not properly apologized to Jackson. He supposed he would not know a thing until he had.

"I do not really know that either."

There was a long pause, but when Matthew broke it he could practically see the sorrowful smile on his face, "We are in the same boat then, eh?"

Arthur nodded despite knowing that there was no way that Matthew could see him. The two simply stood in silence for the rest of the time before Francis's return. Said Frenchman immediately noticed something was off, but tactfully avoided the matter as he explained his nighttime escapades. Apparently the American duo had escaped, but the chase had not been fruitless. After a little fumbling around, Francis managed to find a passage to a nicer looking part of the city. It seemed that Jackson had known where he was going after all and Francis assumed the two were safely in a hotel or on an airplane, one, by now. He confessed rather ruefully that his money was on the latter once they were back in the presence of streetlights. No one was in the mood to take his bet, but he had expected as much. Once they were finally in front of their shared hotel and Francis watched the two proceed to check in like zombies did he once again go silent.

"It is a really good thing they cannot tell when I am lying." he mused, looking over his shoulder and down the street towards an apartment building that only natives knew doubled as a hotel, "They really do not need any more stress today."


	14. Chapter 14

One Difference

Part 14

Francis had been expecting a lot of things when he did not check into his hotel and instead decided to probe the little known one down the street. Sure, he had not seen the American duo exactly enter the building, but the location fit along with the inconspicuousness. The only reason he had known about the building himself was because of his drunken dealings with Gilbert. Even if the man did whatever he pleased, he still had things to escape. So it was a hunch that drew Francis to the place, a good one if he had anything to say about it, and, really, what did he have to lose? A few hours of sleep? So he threw all games aside and just asked an older woman on the inside, who he soon found out to be the owner, if anyone under the name of Jones was staying there. There were, two brothers. That was when the millions of expectations started to form. In the back of his mind he knew that this could still all be a possible mix up, but he was not going to give up when he was this close. If it were the American two then a number of things could happen: run, like at the party, face him, like at the meeting, or fight, thinking he was an intruder. These seemed like the most plausible scenarios as Francis paced himself walking up the stairs. He was in no real hurry to be mauled by two teenagers with superhuman strength or chase after them for that matter. That was why he paused in front of apartment 704, just to give himself a moment to brace himself, and that is when it happened.

Out of all the things he had been expecting, the smell of something delicious had not been one of them. He had to do a double take, wondering if one of the Italy twins or he himself were cooking. Clearly that was impossible because he was standing in front of a door in an apartment building and all the other nations were in the hotel where he should be, except for Germany and Gilbert at least. Even more so, it kind of smelled familiar, but with a flare of spice. He could not take it anymore so he—knocked. Only once he had realized what he had done did he panic. He came all the way out here to knock on the door without a plan?! He heard what sounded like a, "Just a minute!" and almost hightailed it his hotel room that instant, but he could not move. This had to be a mistake, he just knew it, but all of his thoughts died the moment the door cracked and a head popped out, baby blues shining bright.

"Francis…" Alfred muttered, suddenly scanning the hallway as if he were looking for something, "Mattie and Iggy aren't with you?"

Francis shook his head, regaining a little reasoning, "No, the two did not need any more stress. They have no clue either of us are here."

A look of understanding passed between the two before a warm smile formed on Alfred's lips, "Well come on in, then. You are not the first person to corner us today."

The door completely swung open and Alfred stepped to the side, opening up the room and allowing the full weight of tantalizing aroma to hit Francis. The Frenchman hastily made his way inside to investigate. The room itself looked like a simple two bedroom, one bath apartment. The furnishings were all a quaint wood and the upholstery used on them looked tacky enough to be comforting. What he did notice a major lack of was electronics. Most hotels had some sort of television at least, but it was very much missing in this living room. He had not actually stayed here so it had him wondering how much this room cost him, and how he even knew about it in the first place.

"Nice, isn't?" asked the man with azure eyes, "We always end up in some kind of weird place like this when I let Jackie book the hotel. I cannot say I mind."

Francis nodded and watched as Alfred walked off, turning a corner into what he quickly realized was the kitchen.

"So who was at the door?"

Francis's eyes widened as he heard a pause and a little shuffling. In moments Alfred's head was back and giving him a confused look.

"Dude, aren't you coming? There is plenty to eat."

Before he could answer there was more shuffling and now a boy with widened gray eyes was staring at him.

"Al—"

"No worries, Jackie. I will be on my best behavior for our dinner guest."

Alfred just grinned like an idiot while Jackson snapped his mouth closed, spared his elder brother a few blinks, and then turned back to Francis, "Would you like me to get you anything to drink before dinner?"

"No thank you, I am imposing enough. But, I have to ask, are you the one cooking?"

Alfred shot Francis a weird look, but Jackson was not fazed in the slightest, "Yes, jambalaya."—he glanced over at Alfred quickly and back—"You do not have to worry, I actually have a sense of taste."

As quickly as Alfred started to pout, a smile was on Francis's face, "That is a very good thing to know."

In moments the three were in the kitchen, which was as quaint as the rest of what Francis had seen. He and Alfred took a seat at a circular, wooden table off to the side of the kitchen where it was not in Jackson's way. The table had been set for two already, but Alfred pulled a plate and silverware out of the cabinets in seconds. It was almost like this was a routine of sorts and it had Francis doubting a lot of things he had thought about the nation of America. He really did have a secret life on the side.

"Are you sure I should not help?" Francis asked, looking over his shoulder at the working cook.

"Thank you, but you are a guest." Jackson assured, further busying himself.

Francis shook his head softly, but still had the smile on his face when he turned back to Alfred.

"Don't worry about it, Jackie just wants to be a proper host." he explained, "Besides, he does this at home all the time, anyway. Since I apparently 'do not have a sense of taste,' I am not usually allowed in the kitchen."

"For good reason." Jackson piped up.

The pout was back as Francis chuckled. He could not help but push it further.

"Really? What ever gave you that idea?"

Alfred shot him a half-hearted glare as Jackson gathered his thoughts, "A lot of things really, but I stopped being able to ignore it when he tried to fix this very dish for the first time. I was still just a kid, but I knew when my mouth burned like I had swallowed hellfire and he was going for a second bite that something was very wrong."

"He would not even let me touch the plate." Alfred whined, "And he has barely let me cook since."

Francis could practically hear Jackson's eye roll, "For the sake of our health. I seriously thought you were trying to kill yourself at first. It took a while to realize that it might be because you could not taste anything. You would think you could still feel spice."

Francis was finding it difficult to not fall in the floor laughing right there and then. Alfred's returning pout only added to that.

"It is not like I can help it." Alfred practically whimpered.

"I know." Jackson began, "I can only assume England did something to you, he was the one that raised you."

That was about as much as Francis could take, "You really have no idea, mon cher."

They both caught Jackson's shudder out of the corner of their eyes before sharing a look of understanding—and then busting back into laughter.

By the time they had caught their breaths the jambalaya was done. It took mere moments for the food to be served and the drinks passed out, making Francis once more think about how practiced this seemed. That was when he was a little caught off guard when Jackson grabbed his hand. Soon he realized what was going on when Alfred grabbed his other and began saying grace. He was a little shocked at how sweet he thought it all was. It was not like he had never done it before, quite the contrary, but it just felt so nostalgic with the world becoming so much more secular. Apparently his thoughts had been read.

"Have you heard of the bible belt?" Alfred started, "It is this region of South Eastern America. Its name I believe gives it away, but it covers all of the states that were in the Confederacy, even the top half of Florida."

Francis nodded in understanding, a little intrigued by another piece of the puzzle that was both Alfred and Jackson Jones.

"Oh, and by the way, you might want to be a little careful. Jackson likes his food spicy, but what do I know, being tasteless and all."

Francis hummed in response before the three started eating. It turned out to be even more scrumptious than the smell, if that was even possible, but Alfred had been right about the spice. Not that Francis was complaining in the least. He was not complaining about anything, actually. Alfred had meant what he said about being on his best behavior for the dinner guest. He had his silverware arranged and was using them properly, eating neither slowly nor swiftly. Jackson was the same, doing it with ease. They both seemed quite polished despite all the times Francis had seen Alfred scarfing down burgers. Something deep down inside told him that he could get used to this, and whether it meant these new sides to the American nation or having a family dinner at home he had no clue. It might have been both.

"So where do you want to begin?" Alfred questioned casually, watching the other two stiffen a bit.

Francis had not forgotten what he had come here for, but he had gotten pretty close. It made him sigh when Alfred addressed the elephant in the room and wince when he noticed Jackson tensing.

"I am not quite sure myself. I am still not sure how we got here."

Alfred seemed to ponder this a moment with his fork still in his mouth, "Do you have any specific questions? Gilbert wanted to know where I hid him during the revolution."

"Not really." Francis elaborated, "Where you hid him does not change the fact that you did, reasons or not."

"So, nothing?" Alfred pushed.

"I suppose so."

A sudden clatter on the table got their attention.

"It was not nothing. You would not be here if you wanted nothing." Jackson insisted, a small, sincere smile forming with his next words, "So let's say you wanted to have dinner with us. No harm in that."

Francis returned the smile, seeing Alfred do the same, and the elephant in the room disappeared. The rest of the dinner dissolved into casual chit chat. Jackson fell back into being his quiet self, but no one minded. Once the food was gone, devoured to the last bite, Alfred and Jackson busied themselves with the dishes, despite Francis offering to help. All too soon, the Frenchman found he was at the doorway once more. By now the sun was rising, streaming into one of the many windows in the apartment.

"It seems I have taken your sleep. I'm sorry." he apologized.

Alfred waved one of his hands in the air, "Don't be, it was great having you."

Francis turned to Jackson who was quietly standing quietly by his brother, "It was lovely. You must let me return the favor next time and come over for dinner at my place."

A smile and a bit of a blush answered, "Thank you, it was an honor. Good day to you."

Alfred was practically beaming as Francis left, closing the door behind him—and he almost choked. The hallway. It was so cold. Had it been this way before? Even with the sunlight lighting the hall he could not help but feel he had left all of the warmth in that room. Immediately a knowing smile broke on his lips. Another long day it was.


	15. Chapter 15

One Difference

Part 15

Arthur had no idea why, but when he woke up that morning in Berlin he had two very bad feelings. The first told him to lay out Francis, which was not an uncommon urge to have. It usually meant the frog had done something he did not like, knowing full well he would not like it, and it was all going to come out in the wash later. He may as well have got the punishment, or at least the beginning of it, over with then. The second feeling was a lot harder to describe and that in itself made him edgy. The best way he could describe it was like in those horror movies Alfred loved, cue chest constriction, the feeling the main character had walking around the corner knowing something is going to pop out, but not having a clue what it is or how to stop it. Similarly, he felt as though it was going to be just as murderous. Needless to say, waking up with these feelings is not a way to start out a proper morning. But then again, going on a search for the nearest establishment that sold alcohol and getting sloshed until he could no longer see straight was not a proper start either, and that had been what he was planning on. At least he was until that second feeling spiked and he felt himself going into a cold sweat.

He had not even officially got out of bed yet and it was already getting worse. What on earth was it? On second thought, he really did not want to know. If he had to die, he would like to at least get dressed and have breakfast first. Of course that meant breaking one of the number one horror movie rules: never open the closet. He was already breaking the rule to never be alone, so why not add to his slim chances? Curse his tidiness. He had hung all his clothes on hangers and placed them in there before the meeting yesterday. He had not thought much of it then, especially with his nerves at a peak, but now he found himself dissecting every move he made yesterday and regretting several. That was true even when the thought passed through his mind that his horror movie logic was just plain silly and he really needed to stop watching those things with Alfred, cue second chest constriction. Silly horror movie logic or not, he did trust his instincts on the matter and all were saying that he should not open the closet. That left the prospect of walking around in Berlin still wearing his pajamas and trying to locate the nearest clothing store for who knows how long. The sin of pride it was, the closet was going to be opened, monster or not. He regretted it the moment so much as a crack had opened up.

Standing before him was a very tall, very smiley, and very _creepy _Russian. He immediately tried to right his wrong by closing the closet door, only for the Russian's hand to catch it. If Arthur had been in his right mind he might have given up right there and then, but was not, far from it actually. Emotionally charged event after emotionally charged event, a week of worry, and no sleep was really taking its toll on him, so he panicked. The adrenaline gave him a nice strength boost and it did allow him to eventually close the closet after quite a struggle. What it did not do was stop the pipe that proceeded to bash in the doors or pacify the dark aura surrounded, pipe-wielding Russian. Arthur's blood ran cold.

"Now why would you do that, Comrade?" Russia asked, still standing in the closet.

"You were keeping me from my clothes. I have to get dressed."

Russia was quiet for a minute, but simply grabbed to hangers in use and tossed them, more at than to Arthur. The silence got very awkward very quickly as Arthur looked from his clothes, to Russia, and back. He probably had a fifty fifty chance of being able to make it to the bathroom, change, and forget this ever happened, but, in light of recent events, he was not sure he wanted that to happen. The last time he just ignored the Russian Alfred's birthday party came to a crashing halt and he was forced to go through even more misery. Besides, had Alfred and Jackson not spent the week they were missing in Russia? Maybe this was his chance to find out more about it, or Jackson in general since Russia had known since the Civil War. Was it really worth dying for though? Arthur supposed it was.

"Russia?" he began cautiously, "What exactly are you doing in my closet?"

"Thinking."

"But why _my _closet? Surely your room had one as well." Arthur pressed.

"I needed to see something, and I have." Russia stated simply before finally leaving the closet and heading for the door.

Flashbacks to the party sent Arthur scurrying after him, "See what, exactly?"

"You."

By now the large man had his gloved hand on the doorknob and was about to open it when Arthur cried, "For _what_!?"

Russia actually paused, a frown on his face and it looked like he was contemplating something. He took his hand off the knob and turned around rather slowly. If Arthur had not been at his wit's end with frustration he might have considered how this looked like when some of the secondary movie characters taunted the serial killer into deviating from its mission. It never turned out well for the secondary character.

"To win the bet with Fredka."

In moments he was gone and Arthur could not help but feel nauseous. He just confronted death it seemed. Not that it was one his mind. What was on his mind was the fact that Alfred had made a bet with death. Arthur remembered very well what Russia had called Alfred at his house, it had to be some sort of pet name he assumed, and that meant that this whole thing was another Russian scheme, like the party. Arthur was not sure he could take another ending like that. His only hope in the matter was finding Alfred, having him explain whatever the bet was, and then do everything in his power to make sure he did not lose. However, that left one very important thing at hand: how on earth was he going to find him? He had merely assumed that Alfred and Jackson had gotten safe somewhere last night. For all he knew they were back in their beds in their own country, sleeping in a hotel in Berlin, or just lying in a ditch somewhere. He supposed that they had to go home at some point and he could technically call Alfred, but time was of the essence with the Russian on the move and calling had failed him all last week.

It was frustrating, that these were his only options, but he figured he might as well. The first thing he did was call the bloody git. It was no surprise to him that he got voicemail, he had memorized his monologue by how many times he heard it last week. Taking it in stride, he left a rather nasty, but not over the top message and continued with his to do list. First he dressed with haste. He could look presentable in less than half the time it usually took if he really had to and if it was important enough he would abandon his pride altogether. This was almost important enough. He took a moment to survey the room his was leaving in shambles as he pulled on his coat. It was a really good thing his flight had been delayed to the day after. He would really have to clean this up, but first thing is first, he had all day to look for Alfred. It is ridiculous how plans change like that, and getting dead drunk was sounding quite appealing right now.


	16. Chapter 16

One Difference

Part 16

It was like the meeting never even happened in the first place. Alfred had dropped off the face of the earth again, with Jackson in tow. Arthur's main hope was that they were not in Russia, but he was worried regardless. After his search of the city of Berlin he had come into contact with the other nations. It seemed that most of them stuck around to try and get answers out of Alfred themselves. From them he learned that all of them had not seen anything of them since yesterday. He was surprised to learn, however, that Prussia had talked to him after the meeting. What really shocked him though was the fact that Francis had dinner with the two. He knew there was a reason he wanted to bash his frog face in that morning. After confessions, a plan was put in order that to keep things civil, courtesy of Germany. Those that were not the closest to Alfred had to wait until the next meeting or ask someone who was if they were all that curious. Said closest people were narrowed into Arthur, Matthew, Francis, Kiku, and Toris. There had been a little discrepancy over Russia because of the fact that he had known and visited for so long, but everyone figured he would show up if he wanted to regardless, so there was no reason to included him on the list. The conclusion both comforted and put Arthur on edge, but that ended the cooperation between most of the nations. Between the five of them it was decided that Francis, Matthew, and Arthur would return home while Toris and Kiku would go to America and they would contact the three if they saw him.

It was a desperate hope that Alfred was in his own country, Arthur figured. The two left immediately that day and he had stayed glued to his phone his entire flight. Not a single word from anyone for that matter. It made him wonder if he should have mentioned the bet that Russia had talked about when all the nations were gathered. Then they would have probably helped him search, but if told too many people it might have gotten so complicated that Arthur could not help at that point. So he gambled, and so far he did not feel it was paying off. He was on his way back home, Alfred and his brother had vanished, Russia was scheming again, Matthew was heartbroken, he was ready to start World War III with Francis, and he had to stay competent enough to actually do something if he ever did receive contact which meant alcohol was out of the question. All in all, it was a sucky flight, in a sucky day, in a whole sucky month. Thank you, July!

When he was finally landed in England, he did not really even want to go to his house. Since a bar was off the table, loitering around the airport in case he needed to catch a quick flight sounded like the next best thing. It was not like he could relax, let alone sleep any time soon, so why bother going back to that dark, cold, lonely house? He honestly could not think of a reason, but he was able to make a pretty sizable list on why he should fly out to either Russia or America at that very second. That was when he remembered something. That bloody promise he had made with Toris and Kiku. It was beginning to feel like it would be the death of him. The two had thought the three others were far too stressed, which was why they insisted so adamantly that they were going to be the ones who would go to Alfred's house. The two were especially worried about Arthur and Matthew, which ended up with Francis going home with the Canadian and then those two pestering him until he promised to take care of himself and relax while he was at home. Arthur always took care of himself as far as he was concerned, but relaxing was a very different matter. I guess that meant he was going back to his house whether he liked it or not.

Once he arrived in the pathway to his home he was feeling a sense of déjà vu. It reminded him of the time he drug himself back home after the first meeting. He felt about as much of a mess, now that he thought about it, but there was something kind of off about his house. Although he only talked about this kind of thing with a select few nations and people after being gifted with pills for schizophrenia by an anonymous "good soul," so the card had read, Arthur had the ability to see and sense things such as the fae. Because of that, his house was normally swarming with the beings, usually only the kinder ones he had known for years. One of his favorites was a mint green bunny with wings he had no clue to the origins of. Said bunny, rightly named Flying Mint Bunny, was normally always there to greet him on even his darkest days. That was usually the extent of it because they did not want to cause trouble in each other's lives. Sure, Arthur and the fae were close and would commonly interact, but they both lived in very separate worlds. A fae's idea of help may cause a human, or nation, a lot more trouble than it was worth to either of them. He had learned that very well when he was young and once again when he had been raising Alfred. Usually children could see the fae for at least a little while and Alfred had been no exception, which had thrilled Arthur since he had kept the Sight. Being the brave and somewhat foolish child he was, he had gotten himself into a bit of a situation while Arthur had been away. Some of the fairies had explained as best as they could, but between them all, the only thing Arthur could gather was that Alfred had made friends with quite the possessive magical creature and it had gone downhill from there. It ended up with Alfred blocking out the supernatural completely from that day since, which sometimes made Arthur wonder if he would have kept the ability himself. Not that he would ever find out. Still, none of this explained why his house was even emptier than he left it. Where had they all gone? They certainly were not outside because not even a blade of grass was out of place. It was a little unsettling and made him wonder if he could go back to the airport and still keep his promise. Probably not. Blast it all.

He took a couple of cautious steps forward and finally started to sense the fae. So they were still here all along? But where? His confusion continued as he got closer to the house. He could not believe the feeling it was giving off. Did all of his usual fae friends cram themselves inside his house? He would not put it past them since they were magical, but he could only imagine what kind of feat it would be. Now the question left was why on earth would they ever want to? Standing outside all day was not going to answer that, but he really was not sure if he could handle being wrapped up in another strange thing, at least not until Alfred and Jackson were found, and July was over for good measure. Plus he had already learned his lesson with Russia, once he opened that door there was no going back. That was when he touched the doorknob—it was warm. It startled and calmed him at the same time because it was completely not normal, but a completely welcome unusual. Maybe he could handle this one after all. At least that is what he told himself until he was safely inside and watching a scene that made his jaw drop.

There, on his couch, was no other than the missing American flipping through the channels. If he did not hate Francis so much at the moment he would say déjà vu. The most shocking thing was, however, the boy seated in a lounge chair next to the bookshelf. He was surrounded by the fae: fairies on his shoulders, trolls dashing around his feet, Flying Mint Bunny on his head. Arthur had to do a double take. He tried to stutter something, but Jackson caught sight of him first and put a finger up to his lips before rising, sending all the magical creatures scattering, and taking the empty seat beside his brother. Only then did Alfred notice Arthur.

"About time you got here, Artie. We have been waiting a while."

Arthur watched the last of the fairies fly upstairs and Flying Mint Bunny do a loop above Jackson's head before going outside, "Yes, I can see that."

That was when it hit Arthur that he should be shocked for a very different reason. Sure, Alfred broke in all the time, but what was Jackson doing here? Last time he checked the boy might possibly hate him, hardly ever left the states and certainly did not want to change it, and he had just as much work piling up back home as any other of the nations. That left Alfred, Jackson would not come without his brother Arthur figured, but he also did not expect Alfred to be able to make him either. To put it simply, Arthur was at a total loss for a second time in not even five minutes and needed some answers quick, even if it meant slaughtering his precious language.

"Alfred. Jackson. Explain." each word was clipped a concise, but it was very clearly lacking any kind of his usual charisma, even if it was not always much.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at the strangeness of it, but chose not to say anything about it, "Didn't Ivan tell you about the bet? Isn't that what your message said?"

Arthur had completely forgotten about the bet the moment he entered his house.

"He only mentioned it after I found him standing in my closest. He said he had to see me to win the bet, nothing else."

"I see." Alfred murmured thoughtfully, reclining back into the couch.

While Alfred was making himself more comfortable Arthur noticed that there was a lot more tension around Jackson than there had been. They could apparently see more into Russia's actions than he could and their reactions were making him more than a little nervous.

"Alfred," he began, "Tell me about this bet so I can help you. I am not getting the best feeling about it."

The moment he said those words the mood took a nosedive.

"Thanks, Artie, but there is a lot more to it than you would think." Alfred assured, a melancholy smile showing.

Jackson, on the other hand, was anything but smiling. He looked so uncomfortable that it was as if he was about to crawl out of his skin and Arthur could barely stand to see him so distraught. This had to stop.

"Alfred, just tell me. I will do anything to help."

Something unreadable passed behind Alfred's eyes and he began to steal glances at both Jackson and Arthur. Arthur could not help but be reminded of the time that he had first caught the two. He almost expected an apology to come out of the American's mouth. That did not happen, but he quickly realized that Jackson was getting apologetic eyes instead when the younger winced. Before Arthur could say anything in response, Alfred was off the sofa and standing right in front of him.

"Now, Artie. You have to listen to me."

Arthur nodded. Anything to get the horrible sense of déjà vu out of his head. This was getting to be way too much.

Then Alfred finally broke down and sighed, "Back during the Cold War, I bet Ivan that if he could fix Jackson, make him comfortable around the other nations I mean, himself, then I would become one with Mother Russia."

Arthur could not believe what he had just heard. Nope, he did not hear a thing because that was simply not possibly. Alfred would _never_ even joke about becoming one with Mother Russia.

"I am as dead serious now as I was then, Arthur. I honestly made that bet, sober as the day I was born. Even Jackson thought it was the safest bet I had ever made when I told him, and you know he is about as likely as I am to joke about something like that."

_Holy_—It was true!? Arthur simply did not know what to do. It was like his brain malfunctioned. All he knew was one thing and one thing alone, Russia could not win that bet.

"S-so, all Jackson has to do is not start to trust the rest of the nations, right?" Arthur stuttered, eyeing the both of them wearily.

"Yes and no." Alfred explained, "You see, if he does not trust anybody then Ivan does not win, but he does not lose either. The game continues. Someone has to beat him for the bet to truly die."

Arthur nodded hesitantly, "So, how do we make him lose?"

At this, Alfred had a bright, genuine smile, "_You_, Artie, are going to beat him."

Arthur had been following perfectly clearly until the last sentence. Him? How was _he _going to stop Russia? That worked so well at the party.

"Alfred, I am not quite following—"

"It is really simple, Artie. Don't you see? All you have to do is get Jackie to trust you and Ivan loses. That was why he was watching you. He thinks you can do it and was trying to set it up himself so he could win the bet!"

Arthur's eyes widened at the words. Impossible. It was simply impossible. He could not trust his own self much less get Jackson to trust him. He had simply wanted to be civil with the child and try to right any wrongs he had done him, hoping that it could grow into some sort of friendship. Everyone knew he could use more of those, especially himself. Now, if he did not pull off some sort of miracle, then Alfred, and Jackson too actually, would become a part of Russia? He was going to get sick.

Alfred watched as Arthur's face took on a prominent green hue and shook his head with a sigh, "Come on, have more faith in yourself, Arthur. I trust you. I know you can do it. Jackie still thinks it is a safe bet, but he was willing to come all the way here and try for me. Won't you? You just said you would do anything and here it is. I am going to leave Jackie here for a while and try to distract Ivan. I cannot do it forever, but I can buy some time. You guys just have to get along, which will be a lot easier than either of you would think; trust the guy that has lived with you both."

Leaving no room for protest, Alfred brushed past Arthur on his way to the door. The Brit found himself chasing hopelessly after.

"Alfred, _please_! Listen to reason. I-I cannot—"

"Arthur. Be my hero just this once, for me, okay? And if you can't, just be Jackie's. The world could always use more heroes."

And the man was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

One Difference

Part 17

It was a strain to say the least for both parties in the sudden cohabitation. Despite being the United Kingdom, Arthur had not lived with anybody in years. His brothers each had their own houses and they usually kept contact to a minimum on most occasions. Jackson may have lived with Alfred all of his life, but that did not make him any better at living with Arthur. Sure, the two were civil, and Arthur thought it was kind of nice to not be alone anymore, but he knew Jackson was miserable. He could only assume the boy was stressed, homesick, missing his brother, and worrying about him at the same time. It hurt to know that he was not only not helping, but making it worse as well. Why would Alfred think he could get Jackson to open up, Russia either for that matter? Alfred had said the two were alike, but Arthur was having a hard time seeing it. Most of the qualities he saw in the boy were of his almost identical in appearance older brother. Then again, most qualities are either general or subjective enough to be labeled on anybody. True, he could see some resemblances in himself and Jackson, but what he really thought it added up to was an America that he raised to nationhood instead of revolution. Arthur supposed it first the description Alfred gave him of the child half of himself that still depended on Arthur.

It had not taken Arthur very long to come to that conclusion, because one thing he had done very well that week was pay attention, to Jackson specifically. He had picked up a lot of things about the boy. The first was his manners. It never failed to make him smile when he thought about Jackson being a proper Southern gentleman. Now that he thought about it, Southern America had kept pretty close ties with him by way of trade. They shipped in plenty of tea and literature, and he got their agriculture. That was probably how the Southern gentleman was born, from his stories, like how Alfred had fallen in love with heroes. Another thing was the boy's accent. Usually it was kept to a little twang, but when he was angry or serious it would disappear altogether. Then there were the times that he lost all composure and it was thicker than anybody's. Then there was his clothing. Though he shared Alfred's habit of wearing simple, casual things, it was exclusively for home and outside. Even when it was not formal attire and something a bit more punk, he took the time to groom his appearance into something he was satisfied with. Arthur did not see Jackson in casual wear unless he was outside.

Those things alone had been enough for him to come to that conclusion, but he had also starting seeing pieces that did not really fit anywhere. For one, Jackson was a good cook. Frog level if not better. Arthur had also been convinced that several of his dishes, because he had insisted upon helping around the house since he was imposing, had French origins. Louisiana cuisine, one of Jackson's personal favorites, was quickly explained to him. How right he had been. Another thing was Jackson's Sight. He could see the Fae, but a lot more, too, and he was used to normally seeing much darker beings. Because of that he had never pushed his brother into believing that such things were real. As a child, he had deemed Alfred's fear and his gift as incompatible things, which was why Jackson was perfectly content with Alfred not knowing he could see all the things that terrified his older brother in the middle of the night. He also had a fair amount of knowledge in black magic itself, and other various practices such as Voodoo. The last thing that he could not place was his nature in general. It was bold and straightforward to everyone, truth or lie. Arthur never caught the boy in a lie, but he knew he could not if he wanted to. Jackson was not afraid to use deceit and manipulation if he had to, and you would never know the switch had been flipped. Arthur supposed it had to do with his acting ability, but he knew Alfred had that much himself. The strangeness of the piece must have come from the fact that Arthur thought he could tell when Alfred was lying. Needless to say, Arthur did not like to think about this part of the puzzle very much.

Of course, Arthur had not been the only one learning this experience. It scared Arthur just as much as it amazed him how much Jackson had been paying attention to _him_. It was simple things that he did not notice at first, like how Jackson had figured out where everything in the house was kept. From there he learned how it was kept, from the position of the furniture, to the folds in the laundry, to the various clutter everybody owned whether they liked to admit it or not. He memorized what areas Arthur was comfortable and not with having him in without having to be told. He learned the house rules in a similar way, followed by his schedule. When he really started to notice was when his tea tasted like he prepared it himself or better, same with his meals. Then what really blew him away was how everything was in perfect order with how he wanted and not a speck of dust was on the items when he had not touched a duster in a full week. His fae friends had to convince him that he was indeed not crazy and it was Jackson's doing. It was even harder to accept that he had not had their help. It took a while, but Arthur finally gathered up the courage to speak to him about it. He certainly did not want to scold the boy, but doing everything his way had to be a little tiring, right? Was that not why Alfred broke away, his oppression? The last thing he wanted was for Jackson to run away, too.

"Jackson, I have to ask, is there anything wrong?" Arthur began, cautiously probing his reaction, "I know you do not want to impose, but you are still a guest so you should make yourself feel right at home. You do not have to do _everything _my way, I am sure it feels foreign to you."

Arthur had expected to be brushed off at the time, but instead Jackson answered very sincerely, "But it is all foreign to me. How can I act like it is my home when it isn't?"

He had a point there, this was not his home. Far from it, actually, the entire Atlantic Ocean away. In fact, he really did not have much of anything he would have at home. His brother was gone, Arthur was not sure if he had any pets, the outdoors were different, the people were different, and he did not even feel like he had the freedom to be himself.

"It probably does not mean much, " started Arthur, "But I would not mind this being your home for however long you are here."

Arthur had not expected the domino effect that the one little gesture of good will had. It took a little while to notice, but Jackson did loosen up. For one, he did not insist on being the first one up or doing all the chores like he previously had. The two managed to find a happy balance with housework and schedules. While Arthur was working on his various forms of paperwork, Jackson had to entertain himself since Alfred had went to extra lengths to make sure his little brother could not put off friendship with business. Before, that meant that Jackson was off on his own in leisure, and Arthur had never caught sight of him during those times until one rainy day the boy entered his office with an adorably flushed face. A game of chess was all he asked for, but Arthur could tell it took a lot for him to walk through that door. He did not dare refuse him, and was glad he did not in the end. It had been an exciting game right up until Jackson finally won. Not only had Arthur been impressed by his wits, he was reminded how fun it was to play games with other people. After that, Arthur could occasionally spot Jackson in his time off. The more common scene he saw was the boy with a book in his hand if he was not fleeing the house in favor of the woods outback, but every now and then they would still have rematches in chess. At the end of one of these rematches, one that Arthur had won, Jackson finally explained a little of his reasoning.

"I was nervous." he elaborated, "Neither of us knew a thing about each other for better or for worse, so it only makes sense to learn. The knowledge could either help us live in harmony or aid me in the chaos. I guess I do not have to hide as much from you now, though."

It all sounded pretty logical to Arthur. Fear may have been an irrational thing, but it brought out the logical brilliance in some. He supposed Jackson was one of those that tried everything to adapt in an uncomfortable situation and was better for it. The thing that struck him most out of the conversation, though, was the fact that he had admitted that he did not need to hide as many things. Now, that either meant Jackson did not see him as a threat because he was trustworthy or because he was incompetent. Arthur was not even going to bother to try and figure out how Jackson's mind worked to pick between the two, but he could not help be feel that he had made a little progress either which way. When Jackson slowly started to speak up a little more, Arthur began getting a little bold.

"Do you hold it against me for burning his capital?"

Arthur was not even sure how the two got on this topic or how he had the guts to ask without any liquid courage in his stomach, but the words were out and in the open before he could even consider the consequences.

"Alfred says people do things in wars that they would never do otherwise, so we cannot exactly hold it against them."

"And do you believe that?"

"I believe anyone can do absolutely anything, war or not."

Jackson started staying outside more often after that. Arthur had already been feeling a little guilty for springing it on him like that, but when Jackson had been caught out in the rain because of one of those extended outdoor trips it hit a peak. He immediately apologized for making him feel uncomfortable and promised to be more careful of what he said. Jackson had accepted the apology promptly, but Arthur did not get a chance to figure out if his apology worked when Jackson fell ill the next day. It was a fever and Arthur could only assume it had been from getting caught out in the rain. The guilt quickly returned even worse than before and he wanted to do something about it. Jackson did not. Most people felt vulnerable when they were sick, and apparently Jackson did not take kindly to that. If he was not allowed to play it off like nothing was wrong, which he had tried, then his shields went right up and he wanted to take care of himself. Arthur wanted to protest, but he really did not want any surprise ventures outside because he was getting uncomfortable again. So he was patient, or, he at least tried to be. He took on the bulk of the chores, but Jackson still insisted that he at least fix food for himself, and made sure to go by his guest bedroom, which had become Jackson's room, at least every half hour. On one of those occasions he heard muffled noises. He was not sure exactly what they were, but they sounded pained. The moment he opened the door he realized he had been right. Jackson was lying flat on his bed in a full blown cold sweat, murmuring and whimpering. It took Arthur a minute to realize that he was calling out for his big brother and it broke his heart a little, especially considering the fact that he was only about fifteen in human years. He doubted it would do much good, but he sat on the bedside and threaded his fingers through Jackson's hair all the while whispering reassurances like he always had with Alfred. The whimpering did not completely stop, but it and the tension disappeared enough to allow him to get a somewhat restful sleep.

Arthur had never thought that there was a chance of Jackson being somewhat conscience during his soothing, much less remembering it, but that is exactly what happened. Not that Jackson was going to bring it up of course. He showed his appreciation in other ways, like finally returning to their comfortable ways and talking a little more. Jackson found out quickly that a good treat for Arthur was when he told stories about his older brother, and he had more than plenty to share to show his gratitude. It was during one of those stories that Arthur realized something he did not know was good or bad. He felt like he had a little brother again. If he had really wanted another little brother so badly after all of his colonies had grown, he could have technically raised Peter, but he had chosen not to. So why did this feel so special? He knew better than to confuse Jackson with Alfred, even with all of their similarities, but he still felt that spark he had when the other had been his colony. Maybe it was because Jackson was technically a part of Alfred, but Arthur could not help but believe that was not giving Jackson enough credit. The thought distracted him more than he liked to admit, but it was not noticeable, or at least it should not have been.

"You have been zoning out a lot lately."

That was true. In fact, Arthur had just been startled out of another stupor, so he supposes he was caught red-handed.

"Just a lot on my mind." he insisted, clipping the very end of the sentence because he had been tempted to add words such as "poppet" or "love" as of late.

"About me?"

Arthur was suddenly struck with how unusual it was for Jackson to probe like this. He figured the boy would mask it more it he was doing it simply for the information, so he wanted Arthur to know how was curious then?

"I suppose so, but nothing bad of course."

Jackson went quiet and Arthur thought he had merely dropped the subject, but he could not have been more wrong.

"You miss my brother as much as I do."

Arthur would have done a spit-take if he could. How did Alfred get involved? When Arthur did not say anything, a smirk of sorts formed on Jackson's lips.

"I guess we have to be each other's substitutes."

The words did not completely register in Arthur's mind before Jackson had already left. Does that mean he knew Arthur was comparing him to Alfred? Well, he supposed so. They both were comparing each other to Alfred when it came to living with one another. It had been their somewhat common baseline, but other than that it should have been an open slate until Arthur started feeling—like he had a brother again. Maybe Jackson had, too, for at least a moment. The thought made Arthur's heart skip a beat, but an uglier part of him started surfacing at the unusual activity. Jackson was not his little brother. He could have been, but when Alfred did not want to be his little brother anymore he decided to have one himself. He was Alfred's brother and liked it that way. If Jackson had really wanted to be his little brother, he could have come to him during the Civil War. Chances are that he could have done just about anything in response, just like Jackson expected of people, in comparison to his forced neutrality. Even with all of these dark thoughts that had dampened his mood, he could still not kill the happiness that had swelled inside at the possibility. That joy managed to survive the entire day until the rain began. It always tormented him when it rained like this, like the skies were crying, like they had that day that was never long enough ago.

He had planned on staying in his office until it let up. There was no sense in taking it out on Jackson, after all, but something caught his attention outside of his second story window. He quickly realized it was movement, and moved from his desk to get a better look. He froze immediately. It was Jackson, taking off at the sprint he had seen him dragging Alfred away from a gunshot towards the woods. Nothing about this made any sense at all. After his first fever Jackson had carefully avoided the rain as much as he could, or at least wore weather appropriate clothes. He had still been in jeans and a T-shirt, not umbrella in sight. Arthur suddenly cared very little for memories when the real thing was in front of him. He was not going to let him run away this time. Not now!

Arthur had hard time following Jackson's path far before he even left the house. He had not spared a moment to put on proper attire himself, knowing full well the risks of doing so far outweighed the benefits. He just wanted to close as much ground between them as possible and figure out just what was going on. That proved to be a very difficult thing when you could neither hear nor see the object you pursued. It did not take long for him to become lost in the woods he could navigate during the moonless nights in his youth. All the trees in his way seemed to cage him, preventing him from his goal. Why? He sunk to the ground. Why did this have to happen, _again_? He had really tried this time around, too. He had known very well that he could be left this round, unlike he had with Alfred. So even knowing apparently did not help. What did Alfred do that was so different? Why did he win and get to clean up his mistakes? Why did Arthur not get that second chance? Apparently the universe had no intention of answering that question as a gunshot rang out over the forest. Arthur thought he was just having another flashback for a moment before he heard the voices.

"I told you it was over, Commie. You lost!"

That was Alfred. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that it was Alfred, but what was he doing here?

"It would not end so easily, Fredka."

And with Russia for that matter? He was supposed to be keeping him away from Arthur and Jackson, not leading him towards them lest his luck ran out, of course. He would rather have to prepare to run or fight than have Alfred bludgeoned to death. Another gunshot confirmed his fears as he pulled himself up once more and heading towards the noise. Even with their yells it was still difficult for Arthur to locate them in the rain. He apparently had some kind of fortune, though, because he eventually found them in a grassy clearing. Russia was swinging his pipe at Alfred as he desperately tried to reload his gun. Three shots had gone off and, on closer inspection, Russia had three red dots on his coat. Things were going downhill fast. Too fast. In the moment it took for Alfred to lose his grip on the bullets he was loading the distraction had given the Russian enough time to get with striking distance. Arthur ran desperately to try and do something, but there was not a chance he could make it. The sound of the pipe hitting what he assumed had to be flesh and bone made Arthur cringe. The world was supposed to be more peaceful than this!

"Jackie!"

Alfred's voice brought Arthur back to life and the scene in front of him both terrified and relieved him. The pipe had not hit Alfred like he had expected, but Jackson's hand instead. The boy now had a death grip on it, crushing the pipe where he held it. Russia did not look pleased with this turn of events at all. It had Arthur once again moving as fast as he could to reach the two. The closer he got a major dilemma became apparent: what should he do? Try to take on Russia or escape, or try to fight so those two could escape. The latter idea seemed to be his best bet for their safety. Finally with a plan, he reached Alfred first. In the struggle with the bullets and in anticipation of being hit he had fallen to the ground and it became Arthur's new job to help him up.

"Don't bother, just get him out of here!" Jackson yelled.

It was probably the loudest Arthur had ever heard him and he could not help but be reminded of the blond he was trying to pull to his feet. He had always listened when Alfred had that voice in combat and it had won them two World Wars. He could not help but hesitate, but before he could doubt himself or Jackson any further he had Alfred by the wrist and was pulling him back into the trees. It took very little time for the clearing to be engulfed and Arthur had not looked back once. Only when he felt they were far enough away did he stop and allow himself to lean against one of the many trees. He had yet to look Alfred in the eyes and with the sound of a pipe hitting _something_ with the power to block out the noise of the ran he did not plan on it anytime soon. Silence, except for the rain, smothered the woods.

"Artie."

Arthur still could not bring himself to look Alfred in the eye.

"It is not your fault."

The words made Arthur want to scream, cry, go murder a Russian, hug Alfred, beg for forgiveness from him, and go search for Jackson all at the same time. He very well might have tried if approaching footsteps had not caught his ears. Arthur got up slowly, bracing himself for a fight with whatever it was when Alfred pulled him down into the mud with him by the shirt.

"What are you—"

"Trying to keep you from killing me."

The words brought Arthur's attention to a surprisingly unharmed Jackson, except for his hands and some other scraps at least. There was cheeky grin on his face, one that was completely mirrored by his older brother Arthur saw out of the corner of his eye. He finally snapped.

"Why are you two grinning like idiots when we should be getting out of here before Russia finds us!?"

"Because, Artie, we won!"

Won? What on earth was Alfred talking about?

"Russia lost the bet because I let you take care of Alfred, my most precious person. I trusted you with him while I escaped. He lost, so he is not coming after us anymore."

Arthur found he could not quite believe what he was hearing. Was it really over? Were they finally safe? They seemed to think so as they tried to squeeze the life out of each other under the pretense of a hug. The sight had him smiling and wincing at the same time, they both had super strength after all. Maybe it really was finally over. Things would go back to normal and—he would go back to living in that house alone while Jackson went back with Alfred. He might never go to another world meeting if he could help it. This could very well be the last time he ever saw Jackson Jones again. Alfred, too, actually. He had seen a whole new side to him with Jackson and through Jackson's stories which would forever be lost to him again. For all he knew the Alfred Jones at the world meetings were all an act. So, in the end, he gained one more precious person just to lose them both in the end. What had won the bet had not been just Jackson trusting Arthur, but Arthur trusting him back. What did that mean now? By now the American duo had stopped their attacks on each other long enough to see Arthur in his numb daze.

"You know, I thought you understood all those years the one difference between you and I."

His shell was broken, "The reason why I did not get a second chance when you did?"

Alfred nodded slowly. How long had Arthur been waiting to know? And Alfred had thought he had known all along? If he had he would not be in this predicament right now, he supposed. The secret may not change things at this point, but it might give him some solace.

"Arthur, the difference between you and I is that I learned everything from you."

Wait, what? Is this a joke?

"I learned from your praise, your scolding, from the way you walked to the way you talked; I learned from your accomplishments as much as your mistakes; I learned what I _wanted_ to be from watching you, and who I was from fighting you. I learned to dream from your stories and to never give up from our games. Arthur, the only reason I was able to smooth things over with Jackie is because I did what I wished you had after the revolution, win or loss. Don't you see it yet? Parents want their kids to do better and I have. And Jackie will do better than me. What more can you ask for?"

For the first time in a long time, Arthur wore a sincere smile, "I can't."


	18. Chapter 18

One Difference

Part 18

Epilogue

Ivan rested upon his sofa with a book in hand and a smile in place. So what if he had lost the bet? Playing the game was half the fun and he had many things he wanted. This was no big loss. Besides, he knew very well that this would not be the end of his dealings with either Alfred or Jackson Jones, far from it. They were happy now, but he would be, too, soon enough. He just had to be a little more patient and he had done worse things than that. How patient he had to be, he still did not yet know, but things always did have a way of working themselves out. The Russian felt a vibration in his coat pocket and immediately closed the book. He eyed the tiny device curiously before his violet eyes widened a little. Speak of the devil.

"Yes?"

"So it has."

"Why is it exactly that you are calling—"

"Yes, I remember the treaty."

"I see."

"No, I will come to you."

"This is exciting, da?"

"Good bye."

This was not the ending at all, just the beginning.


	19. Author's Note

**Author's Note for One Difference**

**I know if it is kind of against the rules to post an author's note, but I have seen plenty of people do it and have been debating on whether or note to put some after the chapters. In the end, I decided to just take care of it now. I would like to thank everyone that read One Difference all the way to the end and briefly mention that if you liked the story, I am writing a sequel called Not Over Yet and a series of one shots in this world called Shards of Light. I also wanted to thank anyone who reviewed, because I love getting feedback on what I have wrote, as I am sure most people do. Part of the reason I really wanted to post this, though, is because that while One Difference is arguably one of the stories least like my other works, I feel they are all still very connected. For the most part, I portray the characters the same way, just in different circumstances and I hope I really communicated their individual quirks across the board. So, thank you, and I hope you will all keep reading my stories.**


End file.
